


Method in Madness

by AvelHart



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 69,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvelHart/pseuds/AvelHart
Summary: Pressure falls on Amamiya Ren's shoulders as he continuously fails to master the art of magic. To help, daimyo Sakura Sojiro enlists Kitagawa Yusuke as Ren’s personal bodyguard. With war marching closer, they must quickly overcome their distrust of one another. But not all secrets are meant to be spilled...
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Kitagawa Yusuke, Hasegawa Zenkichi & Amamiya Ren, Hasegawa Zenkichi & Kitagawa Yusuke, Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira, Kitagawa Yusuke/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 20
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hydrangeatattoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangeatattoo/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by hydrangeatattoo’s artwork [here](https://twitter.com/hydrangeatattoo/status/1147243838806863873?s=21) and [here!](https://twitter.com/hydrangeatattoo/status/1155640358874877952?s=21) ...this is also my couple months late bday gift, so happy birthday!

Morning light speared through the thin veil of the blinds, spilling across the tatami in a lazy stretch. It caught the tips of his fingers in a weak hold against the cold of the room. He turned his hand over, watching it dance along his skin before the light slowly retreated to the windowsill, shying behind drowsy clouds.

The mattress was stiff beneath his tired body and the duvet provided little warmth no matter how much he curled under into it.

Amamiya Ren had been awake for more than an hour, letting thoughts flit in and out of him as he stared up at the wooden paneled ceiling. Earlier, boredom let him count at least ten in a row across before he realized counting did _not_ put him to sleep as his old caretaker used to tell him.

But when all he could think about was stepping outside the comfort of a room that was not his, sleep was just as impossible as magic. He could think it, but he didn’t want to leave. Not when they were all going to stare at him expectantly.

The knock on the door failed to startle him. Through a voice still choked by sleep, he called, “Come in.”

Sakamoto Ryuji didn’t hesitate, sliding the door open as if his hand had been in the grip the entire time and he planned on barging in no matter how Ren chose to respond. “Ready for training?” he asked, the enthusiasm in his voice almost tangible.

He grunted, sitting up as Ryuji shut the door. Though the volume of his voice would break any semblance of privacy the shoji would give them.

“Come on, the sooner the better, right?”

“You hardly look ready yourself.” Ren retorted dryly, noting the forest green jinbei clinging to Ryuji’s body.

“Who said I was going?” at Ren’s look, Ryuji backpedaled. “I know, I know, I woke up late too. I was just droppin’ in before she did. Ann finds out we weren’t up before her, we’re screwed.” He fast-walked to the bag that had been thrown in the corner of the room the previous night. “Don’t look at me like that; I ain’t dressin’ ya. Just hurry up so we can get this over with.”

He caught the bag full of clothes. When packing, he hadn’t paid much attention to what he was throwing in, wanting to depart home swiftly to hasten the entire process of… _this_.

Sankin Kotai, if that is what he could _call_ it, demanded his absolute obedience and whatever residency his father could provide from their palace back in his home prefecture.

However, the daimyo was nowhere to be seen in the head house of the Akiyama prefecture, having never departed for Akiyama with his son or his men. Through an agreement, a ‘bending of the rules’ had been made. Ren was granted more freedom, able to depart whenever he pleased if permission was given and if he accomplished what he initially came to do. If one condition could not be met, he would remain in the prefecture until further notice.

A second knock on the door and Ryuji started, curse fleeing his lips as he jumped back dramatically from the door. “He’s getting changed!” he called instead. “Give him some privacy, Ann!”

He was almost envious of how free Ryuji carried himself in speech and body language, damn the consequences of his vulgar tongue and reckless actions. To anyone else, he would be the very image of ‘dishonorable’. But Ren didn’t see that. To him, Ryuji was Ryuji.

“Addressing the daimyo’s daughter by legal name is ill-mannered, Sakamoto.” A deep voice responded, and Ren’s heart dipped into his stomach. “May I enter?”

Ryuji looked to him and Ren nodded.

His father was a stubborn man, believing what was best and making grand preparations for any danger that threatened to break on the horizon. One of those ‘preparations’ involved assigning a _samurai_ to his eldest son.

Kitagawa Yusuke exceeded the advanced soldiers, on par with commanders across prefectures…

…or so he was told.

Kitagawa was prepared for their outing, wearing a formal kimono and hakama.

For as long as they knew each other, Ren came to learn Kitagawa was a man of few words when on duty. His eyes were unreadable and his rich, long dark hair pulled in a top knot. No matter Kitagawa’s appearance or the occasion, Ren felt as if he were being scrutinized.

“What are you doing here?” Ryuji spoke first.

“To make sure my lord was prepared.” Kitagawa answered, fixing Ryuji with that blank stare Ren had become familiarized with.

“Yeah, well… he ain’t. Not yet. And ‘sides, you don’t got any weapons on you either. Doesn’t that mean you’re not ready either?”

Ren stood, coming to stand next to Ryuij. “Thank you for your punctuality, Kitagawa.” He said. “I will meet both of you at the shrine.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if I were with you? It’s quite far from the palace.”

Irritation prickled beneath his skin. Was he not allowed to simply walk out in public anymore? “I assure you nothing will happen.” he nudged Ryuji gently towards Kitagawa. “Go with him. That’s an order.”

And before either could protest, he slid the door shut.

“Great work, Kitagawa, now he’s pissed…” Ryuji mumbled.

“I’ve done nothing wrong. Has it occurred that you—”

“Yeah, _anyway_. Let’s go; Ann— er, Takamaki’s been waiting.” The sound of footsteps blared on the others side of the door before drawing to an abrupt halt.

There was a short stretch of silence before Kitagawa departed too.

Ren exhaled heavily, chest tight from holding his breath. His attention drew to the innocent bag on the futon. It would be easy to deliver the message that he suddenly grew ill and had no intention of departing his room for the day, but such an act would be childish, and Ren found himself disappointed for letting such an idea cross his mind.

He got ready in the cold loneliness of the room.

As it turned out, Takamaki was indeed waiting for them, garbed in traditional kimono with her hair spilling like spun gold down her back. Against the backdrop of the _torii_ and the tiny hut of the altar, she was the epitome of beauty.

Yusuke didn’t know Takamaki beyond formal acquaintances.

To her, he was nothing more than a personal retainer to the daimyo’s son of Iwakura. To him, she was the daughter of Akiyama’s daimyo. Thus, utmost respect was to be given. Something Sakamoto lacked. What reason she wanted Sakamoto, Kitagawa did not know, but it was not his place to judge.

Takamaki’s appearance was not traditional Japanese. Many had been quick to label her as a child of an estranged affair. Her hair alone was born from foreigner’s genes, and her eyes were as blue as a purified lake. Fake stories ran amuck the palace and the city too, but for whatever reason, she made no attempts to silence them.

She was someone any artist would be honored to paint.

“Thirty minutes.” Takamaki deadpanned the minute Sakamoto barreled up the stone steps and past the gate.

“Twenty-three!” he countered.

She ignored him, fixing Yusuke with a quick smile before realizing that only _two_ of them showed up. “Where’s Amamiya?”

“He’ll be here. Try not to look too eager though.”

Yusuke approached the altar. Shimenawa tangled from one post to another, and at the heart of the altar itself was a red table. Atop of that was a mask. The left side of its white face was streaked orange and yellow, edges frayed like the wing of a butterfly. A piece of the mask had been cleanly cut off, leaving an empty void where the right half of the lip and jaw would have been.

There are no statues to guard the lone mask, left in the open for anyone who wished to offer a prayer to their gods. He pondered if there had been other traditional decorations decorating the table. Akiyama had always been more bountiful than the prefectures of the north, east, and south. It was the ideal target for brigands.

His eyes slid to Sakamoto.

“…not like we can go with him if it _does_ work. ‘Sides, the guy’s daughter is still— why’re you looking at me like that?”

Further down the path, Yusuke saw him.

Amamiya, despite the frustration that seemed to accompany him with every movement of his body, kept his head high. His hair was unkempt as it always was, and Lord forbid him from even trying to _bring_ a brush to Amamiya’s head. But Yusuke recognized the pure white of his outfit.

Their gaze met once before Amamiya swiftly looked away.

“So… need us to leave?” Sakamoto asked as Amamiya knelt before the altar. “We were gonna go together, but only one can do this at a time.”

Takamaki tugged gently at his arm. “Come on. Let’s give him some space. We’ll go next, okay?” She descended down the stairs behind Sakamoto, looking over her shoulder. “Well… good luck, you two.”

“I’ll make it quick.” Amamiya said simply. Then, without turning to face him, “Be on the watch for Shadows, Kitagawa.”

Yusuke frowned, head dipping in a curt nod. “Of course.” From the other side of the _torii_ , Takamaki and Sakamoto waited.

The mask’s eyes glowed brightly, pulsing wave after wave of energy. Their surroundings dulled and shuddered; the ground and the sky rippled as if a stone had been dropped in water. Slowly, storm gray bled into the clear sky, drowning out the gentle breeze and sounds of nature.

Nobody had a formal name for this parallel world, but Amamiya and his family referred to it as Ne no Kuni. The world alone was a secret kept among nobles and their most loyal retainers. Yusuke had been entrusted with the limited knowledge of Ne no Kuni the day he was assigned to Amamiya.

For whatever reason, Amamiya had almost seemed unpleased at how _unflinching_ Yusuke had been in the face of his first voyage to Ne no Kuni.

Amamiya mumbled quietly to himself, to the mask that continued to glow faintly. Words and names fled his lips, and Yusuke knew better than to interrupt a prayer.

Those fortunate enough to cross into Ne no Kuni sought out power and magic from higher beings. Amamiya, his sister, and Takamaki had all been given this ability. He wondered if there were others like them. Anyone who could cross into Ne no Kuni and be granted divine power would make a formidable enemy.

He heard the first Shadow before he saw it.

They came in silhouettes of fallen soldiers and peasants, some donning armor and some not. The one thing they all had in common were the masks – white, faceless masks with dark eye sockets and unmoving mouths.

This one was no different.

The Shadow melted into the ground and from its red and black remains emerged a tall, rust-colored creature. Its body was split open, sharp teeth bordering the mouth that traveled from its jaw down to its pelvis. Two long feelers protruded from its eye sockets.

It charged, arm cutting at the air diagonally. A hail of needle-thin spikes materialized out of thin air and torpedoed in his direction.

His katana hissed sharply as he drew it from its sheath.

Each projectile glided off the blade, sending sturdy tremors down his forearm and touching the crook of his bent elbows. His feet propelled him forward as he dragged the katana in an upward arc.

The Shadow staggered back loudly with a screech. Its hand grasped the weapon, tugging violently as if to wrench it from his grasp.

Yusuke allowed the momentum to yank him forward, barreling his shoulder into its split body. The Shadow lost its grip, grunted, and Yusuke gritted his teeth as something sharp caught in his shoulder, cutting easily into cloth and skin.

He caught a glimpse of red and black energy swelling at its chest before it burst free.

His sidestep was clumsy on the flat stone, feet lost in a brief dance of confusion before the monster’s arm came down like a hammer. He lifted his sword.

There was the noise of flesh breaking beneath steel.

Yusuke’s body twisted, katana grinding through the monster’s arm. He yanked the katana back and stepped forward with a horizontal cut. The blade ripped through the monster’s stomach effortlessly.

Garbled noises bubbled from its mouth before the Shadow crumbled back to the earth.

The second Shadow flickered along the ground and sprawled upwards, reaching towards Amamiya’s unguarded back. Yusuke hurried forward with his lord’s name on the tip of his tongue.

Amamiya whirled on the enemy, unwinding from his crouch. The knife slid through its neck with practiced ease and it exploded into particles of black dust.

He struck the tanto back into its guard. Their eyes locked, but as always, Amamiya was the first to break it without so much of a word. Maybe there had been disappointment on his face – he’d not glimpsed fast enough.

Yusuke swallowed. His hand was still atop the katana’s handle with the other curled around the sheath. Amamiya’s trainer, whoever that may be, did not slouch on combat.

But the way he had moved, smooth as silk and fast as an arrow, Yusuke had to ask himself just how _long_ had Amamiya been in training?

Did he truly need a guard? Or was Iwakura’s daimyo overcautious?

The remainder of the trial lulled him in a trance. His body fell into practiced movements whenever more Shadows approached, and he allowed himself to pride on the fact his limbs were no longer screaming from exertion.

Yusuke counted at least three more of them before Amamiya rose before the altar. He stared at his back, at the way the end of his garb bounced lightly on a stray breeze that crept its way from the real world.

“Is it done?” he asked.

Amamiya’s shoulder stiffened, and he allowed a pause. He brought a hand to his face before letting it drop at his side. “No.” he said plainly. “But I am.”

He walked forward, firmly but cautiously. “Please wait. Wouldn’t it be wiser to try again? The time we’ve spent here is significantly less than when we were in Iwakura. Perhaps the energy in Ne no Kuni is different in Akiyama.”

Amamiya fixed him with a pointed look. “Ne no Kuni is Ne no Kuni no matter where you enter from. I feel no change in the air; it is the same as back home.”

“You intend to give up?” And Yusuke knew he was treading thin ice, could almost feel it cracking beneath his feet. They wouldn’t be allowed to return to this shrine for their remaining stay in Akiyama. “I understand it is not my place to say, but if—”

“If you understand, then stop talking.” he snapped, facing him fully now, and though Yusuke was taller, Amamiya looked down on him. “I was given a warrior, not an advisor.” And he turned back to the stone mask, touching its face. “We’re finished here.”

Blue color drips onto the sky’s canvas, painting over the somber gray and breathing life once more into their surroundings. Red surged back into the _torii_ , and even the stones seemed to light with energy once more. Takamaki and Sakamoto were where they left them.

Amamiya brushed against his shoulder harshly as he descended the steps, and Yusuke winced. He had almost forgotten about the cut he sustained from the first Shadow. Almost reluctantly, he began following after Amamiya.

And Yusuke froze in the face of Amamiya’s icy stare. “I want to be alone.”

He did as told, watching quietly as Sakamoto sprung past him to ask ever-so eloquently: “what the hell happened?”. Amamiya mumbled something and then he was off, leaving them all behind.

“He wasn’t able to do it, was he?” Takamaki asked quietly when they reached the altar. It took Yusuke a while to realize she was addressing him. At the shake of his head, she sighed. “I feel bad. Isn’t there some way I could help him?”

“We all gotta awaken on our own.” Sakamoto chimed in. “It’s like learnin’ a new weapon. Can’t do shit if the person you’re teaching can’t hold the sword.”

Takamaki’s face creased in a frown. “Magic is a bit trickier than that.” She looked to Yusuke. “Right, Kitagawa?”

There was no ulterior motive behind her search for agreement, and yet she seemed to stare into him. Doe-like crystal eyes that appeared innocent on a first glance, but searched into the person they looked at, hoping to peel back layers to find answers to unspoken questions. Behind every smile and soft gaze was often a double-meaning; Takamaki was probably no different.

He looked to the doors at the mouth of the garden, Amamiya long departed. “I don’t doubt it is.” Yusuke agreed quietly.

Ren had not spoken to Kitagawa for the remainder of the day, but he found it in him to bring the balm to his room.

They both had been supplied a fair amount of coin to supply personal expenses. A wise decision would have been to trade it for more tomes and study materials… And yet he found himself leaving the apothecary with an expensive salve. Besides, medicine could not taunt him with images of people who practically _danced_ with magic.

His original plan had him leaving it on Kitagawa’s floor, and surely after ditching him with Ryuji and Takamaki, he would have little incentive to return to his room.

Like with most things, Ren was wrong.

Kitagawa was sitting on the futon, bandages sprawled on the mattress and shirt pooled around his waist. A cut had fissured itself atop his shoulder, the exact one Ren had carelessly pushed into. He hadn’t seen the Shadow who hurt him, but he also hadn’t missed the way Yusuke flinched when they touched. Guilt curdled in his stomach.

“Is there something wrong, Amamiya-san?” he asked, not bothering to dress himself.

Ren’s lips parted to speak, but the words were lost. Kitagawa’s face was calm. He searched for a twinge of anger, for irritation that called back to their last meeting. Anyone else would have been angry at being dismissed or having their wounded shoulder touched.

Always ready for orders. An ideal warrior, as his father had called him. One that would never judge him for not hearing the voice of the gods. One that would defend him. One that wouldn’t call him a failure.

Kitagawa never brought attention to his shortcomings. He rarely acted on his own if no one would pull the strings. It was everything Ren should have wanted out of a retainer.

But he didn’t.

He tossed the jar on the pile of bandages. “Here.”

Kitagawa frowned in puzzlement at the medicine, turning it over to read the label. “This is quite expensive…” he paused. “Did you buy it?”

“Don’t worry.” Ren muttered.

The sunlight streaming through the window bounced off of something by Kitagawa’s thigh. A small, cylindrical vial with clear liquid sloshing inside. Kitagawa shifted, and Ren wondered if he was trying to shield it from view. “Thank you, truly. I appreciate this.”

Ren turned from the modest smile that pulled at Kitagawa’s lips. “Prepare yourself for tomorrow. We’re leaving for Iwakura at dawn. Then, we set for Yatategi.”

He slid the door behind him, hurrying to put as much distance as possible from the room.

Yatategi was in the north where mountains pierced the sky and the air was never hot. If the people were lucky, the gods would smile down upon them and bless their lands with warm breezes from the south. But gods were not so generous, and many people scorned its existence.

His intention was not to return to his room, but finding Ann standing outside made him pause.

She was the first to speak. “There you are!” at the confusion on his face, no doubt, she continued, brandishing a folded piece of paper. “For you.”

Turning it over, there was the absence of a royal watermark or seal. A quick peek at the black print told him all he needed. “From Futaba.”

“Yep.” Ann nodded. “But if it isn’t urgent, do you wanna go for a walk?”

Futaba hardly discussed trivial affairs such as the weather or whatever gossip the townsfolk spilled into the air that day. Her letter was casual nonetheless, talking about her contributions to Iwakura with the help of magic. Scribbled in a postscript: ‘No new visions.’ That alone was the only confirmation he needed.

There’d be no need to send a response; not since he cut their visit short. It would reflect poorly on him, but there was no purpose for him in Akiyama if the shrine refused to bring him back to Ne no Kuni.

“Let’s go—”

She thrust out her arm in front of him. “Hold it! In _that_? Really?” and at his stare, she gestured to his robes.

The white of his ceremonial garb had caught the flecks of dirt from _Ne no Kuni_ , but no damage worthy of patching. He gave her a quizzical look.

“Go change.”

“What—?”

Ann pulled the door open and nudged him inside. “And don’t take too long!” He stuffed the letter under the mattress when Ann’s voice rung out once more. “I know you don’t want to, but… I think we should bring Kitagawa along.” She paused. “Should I invite Ryuji too?”

 _Kitagawa is injured_ , he almost said. If he didn’t invite Kitagawa, he’d have to endure more silent judgement and the possibility of Kitagawa being so bluntly honest with his father when he asked how fared their stay. He wanted Kitagawa and Ren side-by-side; hearing the opposite would displease him.

Reluctantly, he nodded, only realizing she couldn’t see him. “That would be nice.”

Akiyama was “farmer’s land”.

That was the title it had been granted by other nobles. It was not a demeaning label; Akiyama had the most fertile soil in all the Eastern Country, Riiben. To lose it to the Western Country, Teret, would leave the remaining three prefectures to cultivate food on their own.

Such a reputation instilled vanity in richer families while the lower class slaved away to keep the good of Akiyama from plummeting on paper.

The market street was at its strongest during the summer when produce was just ripe or caught fresh, and at its weakest when snow fluttered down from the grand sky. The autumn season was not perfect, but it was not barren either.

Today, vendors had scraped together the last of their supplies in the hopes of gathering a last-minute coin before the winter spell consumed the lands.

Shop stands were lined up in two parallel lines. A road stretched all the way to the base of the palace stairs, but common folk had little reason to set foot outside the little ‘merchant square’.

Occasionally there would be venders lending out samples to a fortunate passerby. Though he intended on remaining modest, Yusuke found it hard to turn down free food, and Amamiya would often take one for himself, so he figured it couldn’t have been _too_ informal.

There were less offers of samples. Yusuke hadn’t failed to notice how pricy a bushel of potatoes cost compared to the sales back in Iwakura. He also urged himself to avoid browsing when so many of the people eyed Amamiya with a mix of wariness. They would look at him too, but Yusuke refused to humor them.

Takamaki’s family had been welcoming; Akiyama still thrived off of rumors.

“I’m sure you know…” Amamiya said when they had taken a seat. On some stone bench a fair distance away from the lip of the market square. Takamaki and Sakamoto were still at one stall. Sakamoto spoke and she swatted him lightly in the arm. Yusuke never heard what was said.

But no, Yusuke had not the slightest clue what was being referred to. “Know what, Amamiya-san?”

“Trade borders. They’re being shut down because of the west.” He said. “Most of Akiyama’s resources come from neighboring countries. It’s beginning to put strain on some of the farmers.”

Little was discussed about Teret– especially in public areas. There were tales of western dastards lying in disguise, but Yusuke had yet to see that with his own eyes. Before being taken in by Iwakura’s house, he heard of nameless states falling to Teretian control. Their country managed to keep them no further than the border, but it was only so long before they made it to the heart.

“There is no one in Teret that has learned of Ne no Kuni _..._ or knows how to control magic.” His hands tightened themselves into fists against the seat. “My father says we need to prepare, but there are few people who understand magic and how it works. The ones that have been ‘gifted’ don’t have mentors.”

“People can learn.” Yusuke offered cautiously.

“And if there’s only three of us?” Amamiya challenged, but there was no malice in his voice. “They say magic flows in the veins of whoever the gods selected. Those are the ones our country will put the most pressure on.”

 _Whoever the gods selected_ … They must have a sense of humor.

“How’s your shoulder?”

Grateful for the change of subject, Yusuke shrugged lightly. “Better. Thanks to you.”

Now it was Amamiya’s turn to shrug.

His stomach sank a little. He knew very little of what to say. Perhaps Amamiya disliked gratitude…? Yusuke could add it to the ever-growing list. He saw bare meaning to engage in idle banner with Amamiya, but very little choice was given when it was _Amamiya_ who initiated discussion…

“I’m,” Amamiya cleared his throat when his voice caught on the word. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

…it was the last thing he was expecting to hear.

By no means was Amamiya a cruel master, but there was a barrier very few were permitted to pass. Once in a blue moon, Yusuke would see him discuss openly with one Sakura Futaba of Iwakura. Then he would stand firmly and quietly when in the face of Sakura Sojiro’s disappointment. And yet Amamiya addressed Yusuke with the same mask he had for Sakura.

He could truly be beyond comprehension.

Training allowed him to hone all his senses, stretch them to their limits like one would draw the string of a bow. Beyond sight, there was also hearing and smell. Detecting subtle movements was easy; hearing gossip was easier.

The voices belong to two commoners standing a way off, but he picked up their words. He needn’t be told they were talking about him and Amamiya. Subtle glances lost their meaning when they stared too long.

“…and doesn’t he keep failing? What does Iwakura think?...”

“...I’m glad I don’t live there...”

Yusuke had no reason to draw his sword for people so enamored with the art of senseless babble. Though he would never bring harm upon them, he found himself wishing they be silenced.

Amamiya rose from his seat. “Let’s meet up with Ryuji and Ann.”

There were no words of comfort for his lord. For the remainder of the day, he only spoke when addressed. Any feelings of awkwardness were chased out of him the more he realized he truly had nothing to say to Takamaki and Sakamoto.

He did not scorn them, but there was a wall between them he had yet to climb. Amamiya waited there on the other side. Yusuke wondered if that was what held him back. Truly his lord would not appreciate him for wedging himself in between them.

When the dawn of the new day rolled over the horizon, he dressed himself and met Amamiya outside the castle gates after a quick farewell to Takamaki and Sakamoto. They’d meet again, he was told, but when Sakamoto had walked off, it was Takamaki who spoke to him.

“Look after Ren for me, okay?”

“That is my duty, Takamaki-san.”

She said no more on the matter.

As they departed, he wondered if Iwakura would welcome the return of the daimyo’s son, or if they would scoff at his failure just as those townsfolk had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ※ - **sankin-kotai** : is a hostage system during the Edo period where daimyo were sent to the capital (Edo) for 3 months. In the story, Ren describes his voyages to the capital as "sankin-kotai", even though he only stays there for a few days. Furthermore, he is not staying in Riiben's capital, but Akiyama, one of the four prefectures. So in a sense, it is not really "sankin-kotai".
> 
> there is a LOT of worldbuilding (partially the reason it took me months) and i hope it’s easy for viewers to follow through the narrative. i should also mention that while the tags say "edo period", this is **NOT** Japan. it is a world inspired by Japan with the "west"/Teret being inspired by Europe, but the countries in the story are nonexistent.


	2. Chapter 2

The journey from Akiyama to Iwakura followed a direct path encased by a quiet forest that bore the unfitting name: _Jukai_.

Frost still hung on blades of dying grass and the wind was quiet against almost-thin trees. He could hear nature’s song as early-rising animals ran amok the canopies, occasionally shaking autumn-dyed leaves from the branches in their haste.

Though their path was direct, it would be a day’s travel on foot, but Ren insisted on using no horses or other means of transport.

Kitagawa offered to carry his baggage, but Ren declined. They both needed to conserve as much stamina as possible if they were to make this trip in due time.

Little was said between them as they took respite by a flat brook. He took his seat away from the shore, deciding Kitagawa was not going to frolic in the spray after standing at the bank’s edge for a handful of seconds.

The letter Futaba had sent was still largely unread, or rather there was more to the contents than what he originally thought. She spoke little of trivialities, and while the lack of visions was a rare blessing, she made sure to talk about the research... how her journey into Ne no Kuni was getting easier now that she had her ‘magic’...

(He didn’t miss how crudely that line had been scratched out. For as childish as she could be, Futaba was not insensitive. Magic was a difficult subject for him, and they all knew it. Maybe it was selfish to appreciate her silence.)

how Sakura Sojiro was slowly weening her into ‘courtly’ duties that involved, in Futaba’s words, “a lot of paper”.

At the bottom, after the postscript, was a swift scrawl of a long-horned mask with a sinister smile that cracked its painted mouth. Next to that: _okay, maybe_ one _vision. Seen this?_

He hadn’t. It must be a creature from Ne no Kuni, and yet...

Kitagawa swiftly looked away, but Ren caught him peering at the letter. He had not heard Kitagawa depart from the stream. Swiftly, he folded and pocketed the letter.

The stream murmured quietly in the stretching silence.

“Have you seen it?” Ren asked suddenly, surprising even himself.

Kitagawa didn’t feign ignorance. “No. I’ve never fought a creature with that face.”

At that, Ren fixed him with a frown. “You’ve only been to Ne no Kuni twice. With me.” Yet as the words fled his lips, he knew it was false. Kitagawa had been unflinching in what should have been his first journey to Ne no Kuni. “When was your first visit, Kitagawa?”

“I...” he hesitated. “It was with you.”

Frustration growled low in his throat. “Lying to me would be unwise.”

“There are things even the daimyo’s son does not need to know.” Kitagawa countered with hard eyes.

The anger began to snarl. “And if I were to order you to tell me?”

“I was unaware commands were influenced by milord’s temper.” he said sarcastically, _dryly_ , and Ren didn’t like where this was going.

But if this fox would bare his fangs, so would he.

“Would you really stoop to something so petty as _ordering me_ to spill secrets?” Kitagawa continued. “My loyalty is reserved for a lord, not a child who threatens the use of ‘commands’ when he does not have his way.”

His heart retorted at such words and Ren whirled on him. “You’d do best to mind your tongue. I won’t overlook it if you talk down to me like that ever again,” and something inside him told him to _stop_ , to _stop talking_ , but in that split-second, his voice yearned to be heard.

But all he could muster was a hushed, “I never wanted you around.” Uttered beneath his breath where Kitagawa would not be able to hear it... or so he wished to believe.

Kitagawa said nothing, holding his gaze in silence.

It made him angrier. Kitagawa hadn’t asked for land when he was ‘hired’, but there was a catch – a motive. And Ren was frustrated for not knowing what drove Kitagawa.

 _“_ Keep your secrets then. But the last time someone was hired for protection, the noble was found with his retainer’s knife through his own heart.”

His mind snapped back to the vial on Kitagawa’s mattress. The clear liquid, the way Kitagawa quickly covered it... Poison was a weapon growing more common as the drums of approaching war beat stronger. A cowardly tactic, but a useful one if they wanted to orchestrate a clean murder. No blood and no mess except for the vomit that clung to the pallid lips of the dead.

Blood was always harder to wash out.

He had reason to bring it up now, to throw what-could-be empty accusations in Kitagawa’s face. But if he mentioned the vial, Kitagawa would undoubtedly try to hide it even more.

“We’re leaving.” he said in favor of planting the seeds of another argument.

Ren didn’t check to see if Kitagawa was following, and he hadn’t looked back until enough distance had been put between them. He found his comparing of Kitagawa to a puppet to be surprisingly fitting.

There was not the slightest trace of emotion drawn across his face. From so far away, Ren could not tell if Kitagawa’s jaw was tightened in offended anger. Kitagawa would take whatever reprimands he was given, churn them in his head, and throw that hurt into every swing of his blade.

There were no inns or lone tents from travelers in the stomach of the woods. During autumn, there was little reason to sleep outside if one could afford a roof over their heads. Though aches and fatigue began to seep into his bones, he pushed himself onward and down winding paths. It wasn’t until thirst began to claw at his throat when he pulled them over to the bank’s side once more.

Drinking the forest’s water was ill-advised depending on who was asked, but Kitagawa didn’t say anything and even drank himself. When they sat down to ate, they didn’t so much as look at each other. But such was the norm with his retainer.

It wasn’t until he started down the river’s side when Kitagawa called out to him. “Are we leaving again?”

Ren shook his head. “I’m going for a walk. Alone.” He cut in sharply when Kitagawa began to rise.

He left his belongings behind, knowing Kitagawa would not let harm befall them in his absence.

It was foolish to walk after hours and hours of traversing the forest, and the rocky terrain was more uneven than the path of dirt and fallen leaves. The afternoon sun spilled onto the water, sprays of foam catching like glistening diamonds. He realized the current grew stronger the further he went, and he looked back to see if Kitagawa had followed.

He had not.

Ren stared into the bundle of trees on the other side of the river – the part of the forest that needn’t be explored today. When he was younger, maybe he’d venture through the freezing rapids to see what lied in secrets, but he was no longer a child.

(no matter what Kitagawa seemed to think)

Ren narrowed his eyes.

He wasn’t a child, and yet Futaba, a year younger than him, awoke to magic without so much of an issue.

It was on a summer’s day, a year after her mother’s disappearance. Something inside her wanted to get out, and the minute she stepped into _Ne no Kuni_ , it did. Oh, he had been proud of her, yes, but jealous too. He couldn’t forget the way Sojiro looked at him expectantly and then the disappointment when Ren yielded nothing of his own again. And again. _And again_.

Sojiro was never angry with him... or so he said. Ren had reason to not believe him, that all his words were empty comfort to cover displeasure.

 _‘What am I doing wrong?’_ he had thought to himself time and time again. Sometimes, when he was meant to pray to that blasted idol of the butterfly mask, he’d ask it what to do. Did he have to bring an offering? Did he have to _sleep_ in Ne no Kuni?

But stone could not answer.

A young woman with long blonde hair had told Sojiro about Ren’s untapped ‘potential’. Beneath the layer of her voice was an accent with roots to some lonesome village in Akiyama. She said a great power slept within him, that he was what folks of old called a ‘wildcard’...

...but she had also come from the country. A country bumpkin at heart. Her words should not have been taken seriously. Perhaps she had been mocking Iwakura’s noble house, as if to spit at their feet for the past misdeeds of a ruler long gone.

Sojiro believed her. Futaba believed her. Everyone believed her.

Ren was not as gullible.

He hated magic. He hated how it mocked him and blessed his friends and family. If he saw that fortune teller again, he’d... he’d do nothing.

What _could_ he do? He was not so cruel to order the head of a girl who made her living off duping the naïve and rich. For as dishonorable her deeds were, she had a clean slate, having never spilled the blood of another or robbed someone of their land.

The leaves crunched behind him and he spun, hand reaching for his knife only to grope at nothing.

 _‘Dammit_... _It’s with Kitagawa...!_ ’

The intruder was at least a foot taller and armed in leather with carefully concealed ring armor. His legs were shielded by thick leather, and Ren blinked.

This was _not_ traditional Riiben armor, but the face of the man was not one of Teret. His hair was dark and not oddly colored like Ann’s or the fortune teller’s. And when he spoke, it was _their_ language.

“Who are you?”

Ren did not answer.

At the man’s hip was a black sheath, three straps wrapped around the ricasso of the sword. Not a katana, but a sword. Ren’s seen ones before – some as large as the man who owned it – yet it still struck him as bizarre. It was a makeshift sheath, one that would undoubtedly crumble apart with each time the sword was drawn. “I’ll ask you again: Who are you?”

As it was, Ren was unarmed while this man was not. “I’m the son of Daimyo Sakura.” He spoke honestly.

The man frowned. “Sakura of Iwakura?” he scoffed before realization flickered in his eyes. “It’s you. _You’re_ the daimyo’s son who refuses to use his family name...” And the sword whispered as it was drawn.

Ren took a step back, glaring as the nameless man took his stance. He needed _time_. “I see word travels fast.”

“I’m not here to talk.”

The cold water nipped at his heels and his foot dipped into the shallow bank. No knife, little knowledge of hand-t0-hand combat, but in the face of steel, flesh would break beneath the smallest cut.

If he was quick enough, he could run, but there was no way he could determine this man’s speed.

Light danced along the sword’s edge as it was raised, and Ren realized with fast-mounting terror that he had to act—

The man whipped away from him just in time to block Kitagawa’s slash.

His hand on his sheath, Kitagawa sidestepped. The katana was drawn as swiftly as a bolt of lightning blazing across the sky.

From where Kitagawa had barreled out of the forest were the bags, and at the mouth of one of them was a knife. Swerving around Kitagawa and his opponent, he dove for the weapon.

Rock and dirt scraped his forearms and knees as he yanked the wakizashi from its scabbard. He turned just in time to see Kitagawa draw once more, and promptly lowered his weapon.

The katana’s uppercut ripped with steel teeth, eating through leather and lagging in the metal ringed armor. Shock lit up Kitagawa’s face and he barely had enough time to backstep. He thrust his left arm up, the western sword catching against the katana’s hard scabbard.

Kitagawa ducked and pivoted on crouched knees, the sword narrowly missing his head. His weapon followed his body, grazing off chain armor before finding its mark through sturdy, leathered shins.

Ren stared. Kitagawa stared back.

With a flourish, red whipped off the blade before Kitagawa returned it back to its sheath.

The man crumbled and he screamed his curses into the stones, voice joining the chorus of running water. Metal may have protected his chest, but leather could not repel so easily repel steel.

Ren realized Kitagawa did not want to kill their attacker. “I have a few things I need him to answer.” he said above the man’s hisses of pain.

The voice that responded was not Kitagawa’s.

“ _Enough!!_ ”

He held out his hand when Kitagawa’s grip surged back to his blade.

Emerging from the forest was another young man, but shorter and closer in age to them. His eyes were narrow and hiding behind specs and his hair was loose bronze. A scholar, Ren assumed. The person’s garb matched the fallen warrior – a mash of leather and steel – but there was no weapon on his person.

Ren would have deemed walking without a weapon foolish had he not done the same thing himself. They were both fools in that regard.

“You...” he glared, nudging his friend’s shoulder with his foot. “You want treatment, then roll over.” Soft and light green tendrils danced along his fingers, spiraling up his wrists.

“The hell were you?” the man grunted out, but he did as told.

 _‘Magic,_ ’ Ren thought dryly. ‘ _Healing magic._ ’

Of course this stranger could use it, but it was clear his heart wasn’t that of a _healer_. He didn’t check his comrade’s injuries for further bleeding. His spells were sloppy and careless, and the injured man must have felt the same if the look he gave was anything to go by.

“Has Iwakura changed so much that its people attack helpless travelers?” the healer sneered. “You almost severed his limbs.”

“But he didn’t.” Ren said coolly.

“Silence, false lord.” The ‘friend’ spat.

Kitagawa stepped forward, hand dropping from his katana. Briefly, Ren thought Kitagawa was going to speak out of line and rush to his defense.

“Natsume Ango?” he muttered instead, and the healer looked at him with a raised eyebrow. There was no friendly greeting in his voice. Instead, his words were choked with suspicion. “You are far from the north.”

‘Natsume’ hardly glanced at him as he muttered. “Why do you know my name?” When Kitagawa didn’t answer, Natsume looked to Ren. “A ‘false lord’? It seems I have missed a lot in my absence.”

“There are consequences for attempted murder. If you refuse to tell me the truth, I leave you no choice but to speak with the daimyo in Iwakura’s capital instead.”

Natsume’s face did not flicker with disbelief or anger. “What a coincidence. We had business in Iwakura, so we would be honored to go as your guests.” There was an edge of sarcasm, but Ren chose to ignore it. “I only ask your _dog_ mind his fangs.”

“Do the same for yours.” Ren snapped. “Kitagawa was defending me—”

“ _Kitagawa_?” Natsume’s eyes met Kitagawa’s, and, as if seeing him for the first time, said, “Yusuke?”

Kitagawa’s shoulders did not loosen. “You remember now?”

“I feel I’ve insulted you for allowing it to slip my mind.” Natsume said honestly. “Ah, but we can talk along the way. More importantly, I’m curious why you’ve traded the brush for the sword.”

“If my legs weren’t nearly _chopped off_ , I’d get up and ditch your asses. I wasn’t paid to endure womanly discussions.” In that moment, Ren was grateful for Natsume’s nameless friend. The words struck something in Kitagawa: His grip tightened, his jaw clenched, and he stared off at something only he could see.

Natsume extended a hand. “On your feet, Ohara. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you as thanks for your assistance.”

There were matching tears in Ohara’s leggings, but no signs of the cuts Kitagawa had carved into the skin. The healing spell mended flesh and sinew, but it hadn’t washed away the dried blood cracked on his legs.

“Why did he attack Amamiya?” Kitagawa asked suddenly.

“Too busy sucking on a silver spoon to know?” Ohara answered.

Natsume shot him a warning look. “It was careless, and for that, you have my apologies.”

Kitagawa frowned. “An apology cannot bring someone back to life. You could have killed my lord.”

“I’m aware,” Natsume said simply. “but here is your short version: There have been rumors of a Riiben spy. They happen to live in a noble house and work below the shogunate just as you, Amamiya. He is given just enough information on war tactics to spill to our enemies. You are no one special; there are other daimyo offspring suspected. Your timing happened to fall in line with his.”

Natsume had promised an explanation, and yet Ren was not satisfied.

There were too many holes in his deduction, and he’d expect no better research from a child. It was also not the first time someone wanted him dead. But it was the first time he was targeted on paltry evidence for a case that would undoubtedly instill paranoia across their country.

“Of course, I don’t care too much for these matters,” Natsume scoffed, looking back to Ohara. “This oaf on the other hand, _does_. So be a good boy and tell your father when we see him.”

“You’ll have an audience with daimyo Sakura as well.” Kitagawa said dryly.

“Why? We may be traveling together, but I don’t care what happens to him. And I certainly didn’t give orders to run through the forest and start attacking strangers.” he looked to Ohara. “What was it you said last? That you’d kill anyone suspicious?”

Ren was surprised Ohara had not yet slit Natsume’s throat, but enough coin was could keep their guard’s blade from meeting their master’s bodies. For as brash and dangerous as Ohara was, he at least seemed to obey that unspoken rule.

“You’re mad if you think I’ll attack him with his guard dog at his heels.” Ohara glowered.

“If we’re to travel to Iwakura together, then we’ll depart now. No more of this.” Ren cut in. “You two will lead.”

“Fine, fine,” Natsume conceded. “We’ll do as you say. I only ask for some time with Kitagawa afterwards.”

A protest lit his lips, but Kitagawa nodded. “Very well.”

When they returned to the road with their supplies on their back, Natsume and Ohara walked first. Ren noticed how Ohara struggled, as if the wounds had not been completely healed. After a smarmy remark from Natsume, he pushed through whatever leftover pain.

Ren didn’t miss how his fingers bleached around the hilt of his sword. If Natsume wasn’t so suspicious himself, Ren may have warned him to sleep with an eye open that night.

Kitagawa pulled at his sleeve. “Be careful.” he warned quietly.

“Natsume too?” Ren asked, but he needn’t be told; he trusted Natsume as much as Ohara.

“He’s... different,” Kitagawa said cautiously. “They speak of a traitor, yet it’s them that wear Teretian armor.”

“I know.” He frowned at their backs. “Iwakura will be less than pleased to hear about this. More importantly...” (Kitagawa perked up.) “...you knew his name and he knew yours.”

At this, Kitagawa’s eyebrows furrowed. “Have I done something to earn your suspicion again?”

“No.” _I still don’t trust you_. “I want you to speak with someone in Iwakura. Tell him as much or little as you want, but if there is something you know about Natsume, he’ll need all the information he can get. You won’t have to lift a finger.”

Natsume and Ohara did not turn at their voices.

Kitagawa nodded. “As you wish.”


	3. Chapter 3

Natsume Ango did not so much as look back the day he left.

The north had been frigid as it always was. Snow clumped and stuck to the ground and his breath steamed as he watched him depart on horseback, flanked by two men. Yusuke had asked why he was leaving, but Natsume held his silence...

...until they were confined to the same study the evening before.

The ink was runny. He applied too much to the outline of a now-misshapen mountain. Broadening his horizons was important for an artist, but it could often be an expensive feat. Between the cost of ink and the brush set, he would be knee-deep in commissions until he could next afford a different type of medium.

Sighing, he reared back from the painting. ‘ _Paper is expensive as well’_ , he thought miserably. His eyes roamed around the room.

From the small shelf to the lone table to the mini altar. Natsume’s sheet was blank, rolled out beneath his wrists, _yatate_ waiting patiently for use.

“What did those people want?” Yusuke asked.

Back then, he had to have been no more than 12. Natsume was four years his senior, but one of the few who cared to speak with the younger ‘classmen’. Yusuke was not naïve but 12 was still a young age and it was half-excusable to be ignorant to the cruelties of the world.

“Don’t worry about it, Yusuke.” he said after a pause.

He did anyway. His eyes fell to the lone card at the corner of Natsume’s paper: a hanafuda card – a tanzaku, to be precise. It depicted a careful painting of wisteria draping lazily in the background. A red ribbon hung suspended on invisible wind in the card’s forefront.

Those men had brought it with them and gave it to Natsume as some form of peace offering... or so Yusuke thought. He had questions about the card too, for Natsume had not let him see it, but he said nothing of it.

“Shouldn’t you write down the idea you had?”

Writing could take Natsume’s mind from the less-pleasant issues... or so he said. In that moment, it hadn’t seemed to be strong enough. “Do you ever wonder what it’s like in Teret?”

 _Why would I?_ was his initial response, but it died in his throat. Such a rhetorical question was fun to discuss in a group of people, but serious contemplation was woven into his voice. “No. I’ve never thought of it.”

Natsume didn’t seem to hear him, finger tapping lightly on the card. “Riiben grows old when you’ve seen all there is it has to offer. I’ve been to our south and west and it is not so different from our north and east. Inspiration grows stale when you see the same thing again and again. What’s to say there aren’t other people like me over there?”

Yusuke didn’t doubt that. There were many artists worldwide, but the two countries were divided for a reason. “It would be dangerous.” he said.

“So?” Natsume raised an eyebrow, a challenge lying under his words. He stopped tapping. “Our country is just as dangerous. We have a lazy ruler atop the throne and crime breaks out every day. Look at us: we struggle just as much as peasants. Have you ever thought why Teret is taking over?”

He realized Natsume was awaiting a response, but he didn’t know what to say. Yusuke shook his head.

“Because they’re unified. We’re not. The shogunate doesn’t care for us or the daimyo.” His fingers scrunched up the paper, unintentionally knocking the _yatate_ to the mat. He then angrily shoved the card in his pocket. “I can’t focus. Yusuke, those people came asking about the West, to share Riiben’s culture with their people. Do you see what this means?”

Again, he shook his head.

“It means we have a chance to see more places, to reach out to a larger audience. We could reach new heights!”

“But I’m happy here.” Yusuke said.

A pause. Natsume regarded him with confusion. “I thought you wanted more people to see your art.”

“I do...” He knew nothing of their neighboring continent. He had no family there, but he also had no family here. Starting all over in foreign grounds where he could not speak the language was a challenge he was not ready to take.

His painting was alive with rolling mountains and a touch of color. Birds flew to the foreground and over winding ink rivers and shrubbery. There was the uneven outline at the top, but he can no longer see the beauty he struggled to instill in the paper.

If there was something he wished to add earlier, it was gone now. He could only think of his mounting frustration at Nastume’s eagerness for Teret. It made him uncomfortable.

Natsume stood, kicking at the table. “Riiben is choked by rules. I always found it suffocating. A continent full of ungrateful people in both the high houses and the pitiful shacks that line the streets.”

“That’s not true.” Yusuke said suddenly. “Our culture is different. I’m sure Teretians said the same about their rules too.”

Natsume made way to the door. “You’re still naïve, Yusuke. An artist can’t expand their horizons unless they step out of their comfort zone.” He looked back at him. “I’m going to take their offer. You do what you want.”

They didn’t talk for the remainder of the night or into the morning when he left. The air still bit him even though he had been bundled beneath furs. They had been a gift from Teret, and out of respect, Yusuke wore them. He didn’t like the smell and they itched his face.

Yusuke was never given a card.

“I tire of here...” Natsume had said.

When they rode out of sight, Yusuke retreated inside the house. He left the furs on Natsume’s empty futon before returning to his painting.

Hours later found him rolling out a new sheet.

To say Natsume hadn’t been influenced by Teret would have been a lie.

Now, it seemed he had long abandoned traditional Eastern clothing for Western. There was an accent to his words, one that attracted some puzzled looks from the villagers, but no one dared dismiss him. Not when Natsume could still clearly speak and understand Riiben’s tongue.

Daimyo Sakura had left them in a modest-looking room after an awkward confrontation with Amamiya. It hadn’t taken much persuasion to send his son to the palace shrine. Yusuke would have gone had Amamiya not protested.

(“I’m not crossing into Ne no Kuni. This is my punishment.”)

Natsume, predictably, spoke of Teret. The people were different, a lot “kinder” and open-minded. And yet he was the one complaining about _seiza_ and how there were no chairs or plush cushions to recline on.

“You’ve been gone for a while.” Yusuke mused.

“Not long enough.” Natsume quipped.

It was meant in jest, but Yusuke could only hear irritation. “Where did you hear about the spy?”

“Ohara spoke of him. With any luck, daimyo Sakura will show him mercy. He is looking out for this country after all.”

“He could have killed Amamiya.” Yusuke said firmly.

“With you nearby?” Natsume chuckled. “I would say your trade was worth it.”

 _Trade_? “What do you mean?”

“Your art for the sword. While your artwork made others roil with jealousy, your swordsmanship is something that all should fear. If you had come with me, you could have enlisted in their army.”

Annoyance gnawed at his stomach. “I have already sworn to Amamiya. My loyalty is to the Sakuras.”

“Amamiya Ren...” Natsume said, shifting on his knees and wincing. “Not all of Riiben trusts him. A boy who lives with daimyo Sakura, too stuck up to use the name of the family who took him in. When you gave up art, did it occur to you that you may have been serving a traitor to the country you wanted to protect?”

“He’s not a spy. Daimyo Sakura trusts Amamiya as if he were his own son, and Sakura Futaba cares for him just as much.” Yusuke retorted. “I’ve had enough of this. You have no room to point fingers when you’ve been gone from Riiben for years.”

Natsume’s patience snapped thread by thread. “Continue to shield your eyes, Yusuke, but I have every reason to suspect the royal families – and you as well! To not have suspicion would be like saying the sun is born from the sea.”

“How amusing,” Yusuke mused. “Nursemaids pacify the young with a tale of a ‘sun born from a sea’. It sounds you’ve heard this story fairly recently, yes?”

He knew he overstepped his boundaries when Natsume clenched his teeth and trembled in anger.

“You’re a writer, not an advisor.” Yusuke echoed Amamiya’s words. “If you have no business here, I suggest you leave. The Sakuras will not appreciate you slandering their family.” He dismissed himself, not trusting his voice. “Finish your business in Iwakura and take Ohara with you when his trial ends.”

“You’ve changed.” Natsume said to his retreating back.

He paused, contemplating a response. What could he do? Order Natsume’s silence?

…but he could not.

“So I have.” he finally said.

And he closed the door behind him.

Iwakura was smaller than Akiyama with the absence of a market square outside its gate. Instead, rows of houses stretched all the way to the entrance of the city. A wide path wove its way through town before it plunged itself into Jukai.

He contemplated visiting the palace’s shrine before realizing Amamiya would still be praying. So, he took to the one in the city, the one secluded in its own corner among the group of buildings. The townsfolk paid him no mind.

It was the red of the shrine’s _torii_ that greeted him. Cushioned by dull-colored houses, it almost seemed out of place and was less elaborate than the ones built inside Iwakura and Akiyama’s palaces.

Yusuke found little meaning in praying to deities, but he could not deny their existence. He had seen and known too much. Ne no Kuni prevented him from writing off the ‘supernatural’ as mere stories told to keep children from sneaking out at night.

The person who bumped into him did not apologize. Yusuke would not have given it a thought more had they not spoken to him. “Where’s your lord, esteemed samurai?”

He needn’t look to know who it was. Ignoring the ‘title’ he’d been bestowed, “Amamiya wanted time alone.”

“I thought so.” Hasegawa Zenkichi was twice their age, but that didn’t stop him from treating Amamiya and Sakura Futaba with the same respect he gave adults. A little pushy when the situation called for it, but Yusuke had never heard Hasegawa address them condescendingly.

Yusuke turned to face him, his earlier talk with Natsume and Amamiya drifting to the forefront of his mind. “I have something we need to discuss. About our recent guests.”

“Likewise. But a public shrine is not the right place.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Meet me at the crossroads and be sure to tell your lord; Amamiya may be upset if he can’t find you.”

“I’m the least of his concerns.” Yusuke dismissed vapidly. It hadn’t felt like a lie when it left his mouth.

Hasegawa didn’t seem convinced, but he chose not to pry. “Then let’s stop wasting time.”

Yusuke couldn’t agree more.

“What mess have you gotten me into this time?”

Ren said nothing.

Despite his words, Sakura Sojiro had been glad to see his son wasn’t hurt. Ohara on the other hand, would not fare as well. As grateful to the gods Sojiro was that Ren and Kitagawa parted the forest without any wounds, it was obvious he could not fully shake the anger at Ren’s “foolish actions”. To break _sankin-kotai_ was inexcusable, and Ren knew this, but then again, it was not _sankin-kotai_.

“Three days.” Sojiro said. “You had three more days in Akiyama. So why are you here?”

“I still couldn’t hear its voice.” Ren responded.

“You couldn’t hear His voice here either – in the Palace or in the city.” he scrubbed a hand down his face, smothering a sigh. “Do you think we have you hopping from city to city for fun? I entrusted Kitagawa to you because I thought you both would stay the duration you were told if you were together. At this point I’ll need to send Hasegawa with you too.”

His heart thumped loudly in his chest and he broke eye contact. “I’m not a child. One of your bodyguards is enough to keep me company.”

“A child would throw a tantrum and run home,” Sojiro said pointedly. “which is exactly what you did.”

There were no windows in Sojro’s room. Instead, there was a hanging scroll of calligraphy on the wall with a flower arrangement sitting prettily at its left. Ren found those two much more pleasant to look at than Sojiro’s irate face.

“Ren. Say something.”

“Something.”

“Is this a joke to you?” Sojiro snapped. “We stand on the brink of an all-out war and all you can think of is yourself. Even Futaba knows how dire our situation has become.”

His hands tightened against his knees. Bringing in the ‘younger sibling’... What a card. “Futaba can use magic on her own. I can’t.”

“Because she worked at it—”

“And I haven’t?” his irritation tumbled free. “I’m been visiting Ne no Kuni and praying to a deaf God much longer than Futaba has.”

It hadn’t been a complete lie. Futaba’s prayers had always lasted half the time his did, and now that she achieved her magic, she had even less reason to stay crouched at altars. Ren had not been as lucky.

“I’m not...” Sojiro broke off with a heavy exhale. “I’m not blaming you for anything. We’ll talk about this later. Let’s deal with Ohara. What can you tell me about him?”

“He attacked me, mentioned a spy in Riiben spilling secrets to Teret. From Natsume, it sounded like someone connected to the shogunate,” he paused. “I was targeted, but I don’t doubt he’s gone after others.” _Maybe someone less fortunate than me._

“Was he following Natsume’s orders?”

Ren shook his head. If only Sojiro could have borne witness to Ohara and Natsume’s distaste for one another. “Someone else.”

“We can’t rule out that he may be the spy himself. Not many easterners will wear western armor. But I can’t imagine a spy being that obvious...” he narrowed his eyes. “Well? What do you think we should do?”

He blinked.

“Should we let him loose and send him back to where he came from? Or do we kill him?”

Ren gawked. “I don’t think I should be the one making this decision.”

“I’m asking for an opinion. The most you can do is start using your brain if you can’t stay the full trip. One of you is expected to take up the mantle when I’m gone. So start taking your training seriously and think carefully.”

He did. Although, he was more reluctant to think of Sojiro no longer being around to watch over Iwakura.

For all the information they had, Ohara was an escort to Natsume. While Natsume obviously favored Teret and held it in high regard, there was still a loyalty to Riiben in Ohara that had yet to be snuffed out.

Killing him now would be a mistake. Whoever gave Ohara orders would no doubt hear of his passing, and the ties between Ohara’s home country and Iwakura would be severed.

Sojiro was testing him, but Ren couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. If he couldn’t be granted access to magic, it was only fair to put his mind to political affairs.

“Let’s question him. If Ohara can give us more information, we can find out if this spy is real.”

“And do we tell anyone else?” Sojiro prodded.

Confusion flickered through him. “Of his attack?”

“His story too.”

Ren wanted to say ‘yes’. It felt like the right thing to say; a country needed to be united in dark times. But he thought to himself and of how easily false rumors were born. Of how panic would spread like wildfire and the consequences if that panic came from a false story.

He shook his head. “Not until we know if what he says is a fact. I’ve asked my retainer to speak with Hasegawa about Natsume. An assassin would know more.”

Sojiro quirked an eyebrow. “And you can fully trust Hasegawa with vital information?”

“Yes.” he said without hesitation. “You and I met because of him.”

“We did...” Sojiro mused. Then, abruptly, he stood. “I’ll see to Ohara and Natsume. You should find your retainer and rest up.”

Ren thought of Kitagawa’s reserved personality, of how little he spoke, and his stomach knotted in discomfort. “I understand.”

As it turned out, Hasegawa knew more of the transformed-Natsume than Yusuke did. After the day he ventured to Teret, Natsume traveled from village to village, staying no more than a day at each destination. Hasegawa had the pleasure of meeting him, but found the bias of the west as no more than a childish interest.

“Natsume was someone who stepped into the world with his hands over his eyes and ears.” Hasegawa said.

They were situated on the bridge over a lone river that wove across the land outside Iwakura’s town. The water tumbled lazily under the chilly wind of autumn.

“His books never made it back to Riiben,” Hasegawa continued. “and much of his stories take inspiration from western themes. Tales of knights and dragons with a hero whose description matches its creator’s face.” he scoffed. “Is narcissism usually a part of the entire art-thing?”

Yusuke never thought himself narcissistic. “It could be deep-rooted insecurities. Natsume was a talented writer, but many people preferred other works. It is the same for art. For example, _nanga_ may appeal to one person while another may prefer _ukiyo-e_ , leaving the artist who cannot master _nanga_ feeling inadequate _._ Jealousy is an inner beast that will bring harm to others the more we feed it.”

“I... wasn’t looking for an answer,” Hasegawa said awkwardly. “Let’s not stray off topic, Kitagawa.”

“Sorry,” he said plainly. “I met Natsume in Yatategi. I’m not sure if that was his hometown, but it is a place to start your investigation. Four years is not too long; there should be someone from his childhood.”

Ah. Yatategi was... the second place he was to visit with Amamiya.

“Something wrong?”

Yusuke opened his mouth.

He closed it.

They stood there quietly, but it wasn’t in uncomfortable silence. He was used to sitting and standing without the need for words to cram into the atmosphere.

“You’re quite knowledgeable about the arts, aren’t you, Kitagawa?”

He nodded. “I suppose I am.”

“You should tell your lord,” Hasegawa offered. “Praying and traveling into Ne no Kuni probably grows tiresome for the both of you.”

“Amamiya and I don’t talk.” In the face of Hasegawa’s silence, he said, “I am his sword. Nothing more.”

“And I am his spy. But our status shouldn’t stop us from talking.”

“What I mean is, I find it difficult to strike up conversation with him. I wouldn’t expect you to understand our childish issues, nor would I ask you to play as our mediator.”

Hasegawa chuckled lowly. “‘Childish issues’, huh? You’d be surprised,” he looked out at the river as well. “War is coming, Kitagawa. I shouldn’t be the one to tell you, but you and Amamiya need to become more than lord and retainer. The strongest allies are the ones you know. It would be wise to put your trust in someone you’re sworn to protect over a random soldier on guard at _torii_ gates.”

Yusuke frowned. “But you’re not a random soldier.”

“You trust me now?” Hasegawa smirked hollowly.

“Doesn’t Amamiya?”

“My relationship with Amamiya is different than ours. You shouldn’t trust me through someone else. Although a person fights for a lord one day doesn’t mean he will fight for him the next...” the amiability swept from his face. “I hope that’s not something I need to concern myself with you, Kitagawa.”

The words sunk in slowly. Beneath Hasegawa’s speech was a history that only he and Amamiya shared. It was one Yusuke didn’t know and probably never would for as long as Amamiya held him in such hostility.

He tightened his hand around the rail of the bridge. It couldn’t have been jealousy he felt, no – what reason would there be for that?

“Do not doubt my loyalty to Amamiya.” he finally said. “Without him and daimyo Sakura, I...” _wouldn’t have anywhere to go._ “I’ve sworn to protect him.”

Hasegawa looked at him quizzically, and Yusuke was grateful when he said no more. He wasn’t sure if he could debate more of where loyalties lied.

The river clapped loudly, snagging his attention to the bank. Instinct drew his hand to his sword, but he had no reason to draw it when he saw just _what_ caused the noise.

“Sakura-san?” Hasegawa said, already walking towards the end of the bridge.

Sakura Futaba was garbed in a light green kimono adorned with white and golden floral patterns... now soaked to the skin from where she slipped and fell on her rear in the freezing water. She spat curses that would have given Sakamoto a run for his money.

Hoisting her out of the water, Hasegawa asked, “What are you doing out here?”

Her eyes slid from Hasegawa to Yusuke, then back. Lamely, she said, “Meditating.”

“Meditating.” Hasegawa echoed. “Under a bridge.”

“Fine, I...” her cheeks flushed in mild embarrassment. “I came here for him” (Yusuke blinked at this.) “but heard you guys and decided to... listen.”

Yusuke looked to Hasegawa for any traces of disappointment. Eavesdropping was less than favorable, but to come straight from the mouth of a noble was an entire feat all together. Had Futaba been caught by someone else, she’d no doubt receive a lecture. But Hasegawa was not one of those people.

However, Yusuke was.

“Is listening in on others a part of the noble regime?”

Futaba met him with a pout. For whatever reason, she didn’t treat Yusuke with the same distaste Amamiya did. They hardly knew each other, yet between her and Amamiya, _she_ was the one who held him closer. “Talking about politics on a bridge isn’t discreet either.”

Amusement seemed to flicker across Hasegawa’s face, gone so quickly Yusuke was sure it was a trick of his own mind. “Another one, huh?” he mumbled as Futaba crouched, squeezing the water out from the ends of her kimono. “What business do you have with Kitagawa, Sakura-san?”

“Ren wants to see you.” she responded, not looking up.

It was strange. Normally Ren would fetch Yusuke himself instead of sending his sister. “What for?”

“He didn’t say. But I need to use the palace shrine.”

“You can’t simply use the one in town?”

“Too many people,” she said, as if it were obvious. Futaba sprung to her feet. “So, starting now, you’ll have to be my improv-escort. Ren won’t mind if I borrow you.”

He was going to correct her. Though he was Ren’s personal retainer, nothing stopped him from extending service to Futaba and Sakura Sojiro. He was to protect the entire Sakura family, not just Ren. But something told him he didn’t need to tell her, or that if he did, she’d probably shrug him off.

“Well, if you two are set,” Hasegawa said slowly. “I have somewhere I need to be. I look forward to speaking with you later, Kitagawa.”

And as he turned, Yusuke called out, “Where?”

“To your friend.” Hasegawa responded simply. “The writer.”

Futaba did not look to Yusuke for confirmation. Why would she when she heard everything she wanted to hear?

She grew quieter after Hasegawa left, and quieter so when they crossed into town. He wondered how she snuck past all the townsfolk and the guards, especially when some of them eyed or called out to her.

Most times, Futaba would not be a part of council meetings or political discussions like Ren. It seemed Sojiro and Ren moved to _her_ schedule. If Futaba needed the palace shrine, she would be the only one in the garden. If Futaba had something as drastic as a vision, there would be someone to transfer the information from one person to another.

But here, there were no visions.

A group of people were at the town shrine, as Futaba had suspected. Yusuke saw no issue with it and stepped forward—

—Futaba’s fingers snagged his shirt sleeve.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She tugged again. “Mrnngh...” she mumbled, so different from when they were at the bridge. With a hand, she gestured to one of the twisted back alleys. Undoubtedly a would-be home to less-than-pleasant townsfolk if they were in a more populated city. Iwakura was not home to criminals, but caution should always be taken.

“Sorry... I’m not used to them,” she mumbled as she led the way. They were bracketed by houses with broad roofs that shielded them from the sky’s rolling clouds above.

“Is there a reason you prefer less-crowded areas? They are not as bad as they seem.” he asked, meaning it to be genuine.

Futaba gave a half-hearted shrug, staring hard at the ground as they walked. “Is there a reason _you_ do?” she eventually returned.

“I _used_ to.” He said before he could stop himself.

But Futaba was sharp, and she caught him. “Not anymore?”

There was a proper answer to this, a long story that he could simply tell her if he so wished. She would have been the first to know aside from Natsume, had Natsume truly paid as much attention to him as Yusuke thought he did. “I have no reason.” _Traded the brush for the sword_. “It’s been a while since I painted.”

Too long.

It does not surprise him when Futaba fails to offer words of comfort. Rather, she looked back at him with unreadable eyes, as if asking him to continue.

But Yusuke didn’t have more to say for it was not a topic he was comfortable with.

“You used to paint?”

He supposed that was a question he should have been expecting. “All the time,” he said simply. “If it’s alright with you, Sakura-san, could we discuss something else?”

She didn’t seem to hear him. “What _types_ of paintings? I’ve seen different styles like ukiyo-e. But then there are all these nature-y ones. Sojiro used to have some of those hung up in his room. Beats visiting the place in real life when you can just stare at someone’s artwork instead.”

“I disagree. While a drawing can evoke emotion, seeing the real inspiration is always much different.” He paused. “Wouldn’t you rather see the mountains in Akiyama for yourself? The autumn leaves set its base ablaze when the sun hits just right. Capturing that beauty on paper can be quite difficult depending on the artist.”

“Huh... That was weirdly poetic, but I guess that’s to be expected from someone like you.”

_Someone like me...?_

“Nah, still would rather look at a picture. Especially if photos like those octopi ones really exist.”

His feet drew to a halt. “What?”

And Futaba _smirked_. “You know... _those ones_. I know you’ve seen a few of them. Oh, maybe you’ve drawn one too but you’re afraid to tell me.”

“Sakura—”

“Stop being so formal. It’s bad enough with Zenkichi, but we’re close in age, so you’re just making it even weirder.” then she was back on those ‘bizarre paintings’. “You could sell them. People have some interesting tastes, and women and octopus happen to be all the rage.”

He gaped. “ _Shunga_?”

“That’s it!” she exclaimed, pointing comically. “When we get back home, maybe we can raid Ren’s room. He’s got to have some.”

“I... don’t think breaking into Amamiya’s room is a wise decision.”

“It’s not ‘breaking in’. I have the ‘family entry pass’,” she snickered. “When you see it, your eyes will pop out of your head.”

“While I wouldn’t disagree to viewing artwork, I don’t think this is an appropriate... hobby between people with our statuses.”

“Hrng... You’re no fun.” Futaba looked at him with mock annoyance. And, after a beat of silence, “Do samurai carry them?”

It was a trick question that would throw him into an obvious trap. The truth was: yes, they did. But Yusuke hadn’t held a painting since he left Yatategi. Wherever she gathered the information about _shunga_ , he was sure she could find that answer on her own.

“I am more than willing to tell you about the samurai, but it would be best to refrain from topics of erotic art.” _At least with you_. Should Sojiro or Amamiya find him having such a discussion, Yusuke would be saying farewell to Iwakura the minute the sun set.

“...No breaking into Ren’s room?”

“What happened to the family entry pass?”

Futaba protested, but Yusuke found himself oddly at peace despite her curious words. It was with solemn realization when he pondered: When was the last time someone talked to him as more than an acquaintance?


	4. Chapter 4

He wondered if there was some magic in him after all.

In rare times, the Shadows would come to him – and not to fight.

And in _rarer_ times, they swore a brief alliance.

Ren began to wonder if they too took pity on him. Everything else he knew of magic and the unnatural was reduced to tomes and ancient scrolls, or whatever Futaba and Ann chose to discuss with him.

This Shadow was a tiny thing, a small pixie in blue and a head of short, cropped hair. She was childish, and it reminded him of the times Futaba would speak to him as her true self. Not the timid Futaba that stood behind him in public. The _real_ one.

His heart beat against the sudden rush of magic that traveled from the pixie’s hand to his.

What purpose did she have for wanting to stay close? She did not tell him, for he was not worthy of hearing.

“ ** _I could feel your distress from the other side._** ” she had said.

For a while, they wandered aimlessly, but never far from the altar. He didn’t mind getting a taste of the Shadow’s power. He did mind not knowing what to do with it.

When a bond was made, momentarily or not, he could use magic. But the link between them was not of his own. He could never cross back into his world without that chain severing. It was not the same connection Futaba shared with her ‘Shadow’ and Ann with hers.

This was a borrowed bond. A fake.

Mifune Chihaya had called him a Wild Card, but it hadn’t taken Ren long to find out that multiple contracts between Shadows would not hold until he woke to his own.

Lightning danced along his fingertips before he threw his arm out. It flung forward, nipping at the innocent patch of grass. He found zio-spells harder to control. It had a mind of its own. It was chaotic as fire.

“ ** _Do you_ want _to start a fire?_** ” the pixie chided.

He didn’t answer her question. Rising to his feet, he spoke, “Thank you for your help. You’re dismissed.”

“ ** _Ugh,_ what _help? Whatever. Call me when you want to use my magic again… Not._** ”

Ren felt the link between them dissolve with a sharp pang, unknotting loosely and easily. She forgot her impatience in the confines of his mind, and quickly did she crumble into red and black fireworks.

Once more, he was alone.

The stone idol of Philemon’s mask watched silently from its perch. Anger welled up inside him the longer he stared. What was the point of sending prayers and offerings to gods if they weren’t going to step in and help their people stop a war? Wouldn’t a God _want_ peace?

He shut his eyes, reached out with his mind and commanded it to return him. Altars were not living beings, but they could bring people to and from _Ne no Kuni_ if the right person asked. It was another thing that told Ren he _did_ have magic inside him. A small comfort in face of much larger doubts.

The palace garden was modest with a plain bridge connecting one island to another, a grand pond with water as clear as glass where he could pick out each particle of mud and dirt in its belly.

No one was waiting for him in the pavilion by the shore. He pondered what was taking Kitagawa. Futaba was quick to fill out his demands – even if on her own time. But she knew Kitagawa better than Ren ever had.

Surely Sojiro knew of Ren’s discomfort with Kitagawa. A part of him wanted to feel guilty for scorning him so. Kitagawa was doing his job, upholding whatever the bushido entailed. He protected him from Ohara, and yet Ren could only meet him with dismissal and short words.

Kitagawa was _not_ his friend. He would be paid handsomely in food and land for watching over a daimyo’s son, be given a beautiful woman to wed and bed, and forget Ren even existed. His time serving the Sakura family would make for a grand tale to tell, but they would have nothing to do with one another. It was a duty Ren was eager to rid.

The faster he awoke to his magic, the sooner he would stop having to see Kitagawa’s face.

He judged Ren; he wouldn’t believe otherwise. Everyone he grew up around judged him. Just like his father and sister, Ryuji and Ann, Hasegawa and the citizens, Kitagawa doubted him. But unlike the others, Kitagawa did not give encouragement or comfort. And if he did, Ren could not find it in himself to react positively. He would lash out in his own anger, tell Kitagawa to mind his place.

The sooner he awoke, the sooner he’d find out the makings of Ne no Kuni. He could protect the east with Ne no Kuni; the west didn’t know yet...

...but he could not deny Ohara’s words planted doubt in his mind.

Something cracked behind him and he whirled, drawing his knife.

What waited for him was not an intruder.

It was a small, black cat with white paws and blue eyes. Briefly, he pondered how it could have wandered into the garden. Strays were not common in Iwakura, and the guards had made sure that no one – including animals – would breach the gates.

But this was not a cat for its tail split into two at the tip. Further down its body was a horrible three-lined wound. The injury alone could not have come from another feline.

It never took its eyes off him, meowing warily and tail fluffing.

“You’re a nekomata,” Ren said plainly. He inched closer, slowly. “Easy... I won’t hurt you.”

There were pressing questions, but shrines were holy grounds. Surely it wandered through some stray portal in Ne no Kuni. Maybe it always lived in the human world. Cases involving the supernatural were not unheard of; they were simply rare.

The nekomata had no intention of listening. It hastily limped out of his reach.

‘ _I just want to help_.’

‘ _I can take care of myself!_ ’

The intrusive thought lashed against the walls of his mind and he recoiled sharply.

“Would you prefer I talked like _this_?” the nekomata meowed fluently in his mother tongue. “Heh... If only you could see the look on your face.”

“Your wound...” Ren started slowly. “Let me see it.”

“You’re pretty stubborn, huh?” but it relented, easing back on its rear to sit obediently.

Its fur was smooth, practically slipping beneath his touch as he trailed a hand to its side. There was a doctor in Iwakura, but Ren couldn’t tell if she ever treated _yokai_ before. But the scratches were not deep, shallow cuts that sheared across silky fur. It was something even he could mend.

He reached for him, then paused. “Will you let me carry you?”

The nekomata’s tail flicked. “I won’t pass up the royal treatment, but you’re just making more work for yourself. Let me go back to Ne no Kuni so I can heal.”

“You _did_ come from Ne no Kuni.” He scooped it up in his arms, careful to avoid leaning into its injury.

“Where else?” it peered out at the expanse of the pond as they crossed the bridge. “I take it this is your palace.”

He shook his head. “Daimyo Sakura Sojiro.”

“Oh? Well, that would explain your clothes. They’re way too fancy for a commoner. Hey, I never got your name. Digging through your thoughts isn’t giving me the answer either.”

“Amamiya Ren,” he replied, frowning slightly. “And don’t read my thoughts.”

“...Morgana.” it said, paying no mind to Ren’s last-minute demand. “My name, and I’m a boy before you ask.”

He had no intention of inquiring such a thing.

Cradling Morgana in one hand, he reached for the backdoor of the palace. The soft noise of the garden muffled behind him, he made his way quietly down the halls. His own room was at the far end, away from Sojiro’s and only a little closer to Futaba’s. They hadn’t put him there out of spite; he requested the most convenient one. It just happened to be isolated with no picture scribbled on its screen door.

Ren heard Kitagawa before he saw him. Upon hearing his voice, he’d usually let him be. The discussions with his retainer were for business only. Yet this time, Kitagawa sounded anything _but_ serious.

There was still that calmness to his voice, deep but never thunderous with anger. This time, it sounded as if Kitagawa’s tongue were loose.

“...never had the chance to see it for myself. I hear the original was burned to a crisp. I suppose all that’s left is a distant memory.” He paused. “A shame. Its technique would have been ideal to study.”

“Just look at a photo of it or something.” (Ren blinked. _Futaba_?) “Oh, wait, this was before photography even _existed_ , huh? Sounds like you’re out of luck, Inari.”

“Inari...?”

“Yeah. Like the— oh?” she saw Ren first, and he was almost taken aback when she made a break for him. “Is that a cat? Sojiro let you keep one?”

Ren forgot he was holding Morgana. “No, it’s—”

“Nekomata!” Morgana yowled sharply. “I’m _not_ a regular cat!”

“He’s got a bit of an attitude.” Futaba reached forward, scratching at his cheeks with eager fingers.

“This coming from you?” Kitagawa said suddenly.

Ren looked at him, but the words fell on top of one another in his throat. Why were Kitagawa and Futaba so open with one another?

He wrenched his gaze back to Morgana. “He’s hurt.” he said plainly.

“Where did you find him?” Futaba asked.

(“Ugh, let go of my face!”)

“Garden. He said he’s from Ne no Kuni.”

Kitagawa frowned, folding his arms. “He... _said_? As in spoke?”

“Yes,” _what was strange about that_? “Nekomata can talk.”

Morgana answered instead. “Little heads up, Ren: Only people who can use magic understand us. Doesn’t matter if someone’s crossed over into Ne no Kuni before. If this guy can’t cast a spell, he won’t know a word that comes out of my mouth. Furthermore, I wouldn’t be able to trade thoughts with him either.” He yelped suddenly. “ _Hey_! Cut it out!”

“He says you can’t hear him,” Ren interpreted. Gently, he reeled himself from Futaba. “Let me take care of him first. I’ll speak to Sojiro about this after.”

“Can I help?” Futaba asked.

“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” at her puzzled face, he jerked his head lightly in the direction of the garden.

“Hmm... After then. Also, that’s the last time I send _you_ a letter! Do you know how hard it was having to sneak it to the postman? And then you were gone for what, three days?”

“That’s swift postal service.” Most letters took a week to travel from one capital to another. But from a small village to another small village could take up to two weeks.

“Maybe next time I’ll carry it on foot. We’ll bump into each other since you’re always in such a hurry to come back and see us.”

“Pack a lunch for me.” he chuckled.

She stuck her tongue out at him. Turning to Kitagawa she said, “Thanks for escorting me, Inari. We’ll look at _it_ some other time, okay?”. At the light blush that made itself known on Kitagawa’s face, she chuckled, and then departed in a hurry.

Were he in a better mood, he would have asked what ‘it’ meant. It could mean _anything_. However, seeing Kitagawa talking so _freely_ and Futaba being just as open made him feel... odd. And his frustration grew when he realized he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

His pettiness forced out, “You’re late.”

Kitagawa at least had the gall to look mildly apologetic. “Sorry. Futaba and I decided to take the back alleys to avoid—”

“—people. She... doesn’t like big crowds.” _I always knew that. I don’t need_ you _telling me._ A sliver of guilt pricked his tongue for interrupting Kitagawa so rudely. “Help me with the cat.” he said in a pathetic attempt to recover.

Morgana did not correct him that time. He kept his eyes on Kitagawa even as they walked into his room. There was curiosity there, but Ren did not humor it. If Morgana wanted to know something, he could always ask.

“What do you need of me?” Kitagawa asked.

“Make sure he doesn’t run off.” he crossed over to the storage chest by the window. His room in Iwakura had not been much different from the one he resided in at Akiyama.

“Come _on_ ,” Morgana hissed. “Don’t underestimate me. If I didn’t want to be here, I could’ve bailed a long time ago.”

He didn’t stock up on medical supplies in his room. There was little need for them when most of his time was spent outside the palace. Were he to injure himself, a swift visit to the clinic would patch up his needs before sending him off on his merry little way.

“Do you still have the medicine I gave you back in Akiyama?” Ren asked.

“Yes,” Kitagawa did not take his eyes off Morgana as he stood. “Would you like me to retrieve it for you?”

He was about to say ‘yes’ when it dawned on him: Kitagawa’s belongings would be unguarded. If he truly wanted, he could look through and find out just _what_ that vial of liquid was for. Maybe it had a label on it he hadn’t seen, or maybe he could tell where it came from simply by its design.

‘ _Hey..._ ’ Morgana’s thoughts prodded him. ‘ _Ever heard of privacy?_ ’

‘ _You’re one to talk._ ’ He snapped.

‘ _Don’t go looking through his things. This guy trusts you, and doing that could totally ruin it._ ’

‘ _Kitagawa does_ not _trust me..._ ’

“...Amamiya-san?” Kitagawa was looking at him now. “Are you alright?”

No, he was not. He was torn and irritated, irritated because Morgana had a point. Even if Ren didn’t believe there was mutual trust, he can’t imagine responding amicably were Kitagawa to go through his stuff.

But then there was Futaba who seemed to get along with him so _easily_. Futaba. Of _all_ people.

... _Is Kitagawa really as bad as I think he is?_

“I would appreciate that,” he backpedaled. “The medicine. If you could bring me the medicine.”

“Of course. I shall return.”

Morgana appeared to leer at him. “Who exactly _are_ you, Ren?”

“Can’t you read my mind to find out?” he returned smoothly.

“And that guy. Kitagawa, you called him?” Morgana continued nonplussed. “Don’t tell me if you don’t want to then. But I think you two have quite a bit in common. Maybe try to get to know him before jumping to conclusions.”

Ren had no reason to delve into the details of his and Kitagawa’s relationship let alone his relationship to Sojiro and Futaba. He knew little of nekomata behavior, but once Morgana was patched up, nothing was stopping him from retreating back to Ne no Kuni.

“Maybe instead of doubting him, you could talk to him. It seems even Futaba’s figured that out.”

“She’s smart.”

“You’re stubborn.” Morgana repeated.

 _You don’t know me_ , he almost said, but who was he to talk when Ren hardly knew himself?

There were times when Yusuke stumbled upon things he knew he had no business knowing.

But Yusuke had been the one to _give_ Hasegawa the information, so surely it was only fair to listen to him and Natsume talk in what he assumed was a guest room. No one had bothered to inform him on Ohara, and for whatever reason, it felt wrong to _not_ know. Ohara attacked _his_ lord. Surely Natsume knew something of Ohara’s impending punishment.

“...what happens to him,” Natsume’s voice knocked against the walls. “doesn’t concern me. I paid him and his group more than they were worth.”

“A group?” Hasegawa was astonished.

“No better than Riiben brigands... You ask them for a favor and they want a leg in return. The shogun should burn out the entire north with whatever blessing the gods have given him. Bring all of them back to the dust they crawled out from.”

“I’m no fan of the cold myself, Nastume Ango,” Hasegawa said slowly. “But you speak of something not so different from genocide.”

“Damn Riiben,” Natsume spat. “Spend a few years in Teret and you’ll see how much more freeing it is. Here, we’re crushed under the heel of a lord who would rather lift a hand to pluck the food from his teeth than help his people.”

Yusuke expected Natsume to be struck for saying such a thing. Speaking so harshly and carelessly under a noble’s roof was asking for a swift death. But Hasegawa Zenkichi was not the daimyo nor was he a samurai that would repeat those very words to his master.

“If we’re done talking, then I’d like to go. I’ve given you what you wanted and I ask in return you don’t involve me further.”

“Where do you plan on going after this?”

A pause. “Teret. Why does it matter?”

“Because even you must have reason for returning to a land you’ve come to hate so much. No one comes crawling back to their birthright unless they want something. Maybe it’s better if you stopped lying to me.” It sounded as if Hasegawa moved, and Yusuke pictured him standing over Natsume. “It’s Ne no Kuni, isn’t it?”

 _...Ne no Kuni_?

“That’s— Teret doesn’t know it exists—”

“A lie if I’ve ever heard one. News travels fast. What your West hasn’t figured out is how to break into it. They don’t pray to the same deities and their foundations weren’t planted on blessed soil. Instead, they hope to override Riiben’s methods of harnessing magic. In doing that, they’re enacting a brainwashing plan, to which we’ve responded by...”

 _‘...closing the trade routes._ ’ Amamiya had told him that afternoon in Akiyama.

Cutting off all outside communication. Teret knew what they were doing; Riiben was growing paranoid.

“...and feel free to stop me if I’ve made an error in my report.” Hasegawa said lightly.

Silence bled into the atmosphere once more. He should leave, but his feet wouldn’t listen to him.

“And what if you were right? What if I was after it?”

“Well, there’s not much I could do. It’s impossible for it to be physically extracted and planted in another country. But unless you’re using it to gain inspiration for your books, I’d advise you to drop it. Riiben isn’t so kind to traitors.”

Footsteps sounded behind the door, advancing closer, and Yusuke backed away, ducking back behind the corner.

“You don’t seem to be a fighter, Natsume. I say this from one acquaintance to another: Keep your nose out of war. The more you get entangled, the harder it is to get out. Stay with Teret and feast on what they have to offer, but make a decision or you will end up with neither country to provide a roof over your head. Your past deeds of selflessness won’t rinse off a mark of treachery.”

He started walking away, the jar of medicine like a block of lead in his hands. When he’s entered the hall housing Amamiya’s room, he turned to Hasegawa.

“I could hear you following me.” Yusuke said firmly.

“And I noticed you when I spoke with Natsume.” Hasegawa returned. “I’ll give credit to your hearing, Kitagawa.”

He ignored that. “He spoke of Yatategi.”

“Yes, he did, but let’s save this for somewhere else. We’re both going to meet Amamiya, are we not? We can carry out the rest of our conversation there.”

Morgana was rather cooperative when they applied the medicine. A part of Ren wondered if it was due to Zenkichi’s fascination. Nekomata were not so common in the real world after all.

(“The cat just— They can _talk_?!” Zenkichi had exclaimed.

“Nekomata!” Morgana had retaliated. “How many times do I have to say it to you people?!”)

...Fascination may have been the wrong word.

“I’m quite _stylish_ for a nekomata, aren’t I?” Morgana preened once the initial shock had vanished.

“He’s... letting you keep it?” Zenkichi asked.

“Sojiro doesn’t know he’s here.” Ren replied, wiping his fingers on the hand-towel. “I don’t plan on telling him either. Morgana wants to go back to Ne no Kuni tonight.”

Kitagawa looked over at them. “But he just got here.”

“I won’t be gone forever. If you keep returning to Ne no Kuni, we may see each other again.”

There was little time for idle chat. If Zenkichi paid him a visit, important news often followed. It wasn’t always good, but Ren could not complain. “What of Ohara?”

“Natsume knew just as little,” he started. “However, a few guards think daimyo Sakura is letting them leave together.”

Confusion stabbed through him. That was... _not_ what he’d been expecting. “Is that safe?”

“Some of Iwakura’s samurai will escort him as far as Riiben’s eastern country: Minochi. I don’t doubt you’re unfamiliar with it.” he paused. “Ohara intends to stay there before returning to Yatategi. But Natsume...”

“...will return to Teret.” Kitagawa finished quietly.

“Since you’re going to Yatategi next, you should leave before they do. Ohara swears his loyalty to Riiben, but he’s given us room to doubt him.” Zenkichi narrowed his eyes as he leaned back against the wall. “Be careful, Amamiya. Yatategi may not be the same.”

“Years without change is unnatural,” Morgana chipped in. “I don’t know much about what goes on with your human politics, but Yatategi’s Ne no Kuni is very different from here.”

Ren blinked. “Ne no Kuni is the same no matter where I go.”

Morgana did not seem to agree. “You’ve been to my world _so many times_ and you can’t tell the regions apart?”

His mouth went dry, words evaporating. How _could_ he respond to that? A creature who lived in Ne no Kuni would know more about its makings than a weekly visitor.

“The _energy_. It’s a lot more... well, you’ll see when you get there. The one here in Iwakura is like a calming spring breeze.”

“Yatategi may be colder.” Kitagawa said suddenly.

“Tell him the weather will be the _least_ of your concerns if Yatategi is as bad as the old guy’s making it out to be.”

(Zenkichi made a face. “Old... guy...?”)

Ren did not. “I’ll speak to Sojiro about this.”

“I’m to meet with Sojiro this evening,” Zenkichi interjected. “I could pass along whatever message so you can make preparations for tomorrow.” At Ren’s puzzled frown, he continued, “Natsume and Ohara aren’t welcome here. I have no doubt they’ll be leaving as soon as they’re cleared.”

A voyage to Yatategi by foot would last a few days. If they could cover enough ground in the beginning hours, they could rest at some low-budget _minshuku_.

“Thank you, Hasegawa-san.” He said at last.

Zenkichi chuckled. “What’s with the sudden formality? Leave that for the big show.” He pried the door open partway. “Make sure to escort your little bakeneko back home. We don’t want him to get lost.”

“ _Neko_ — oh, forget it.” once Zenkichi departed (muttering something about “talking cats”), he said, “See if I grant you any fortune, old man.”

“Can Nekomata do that?” Ren asked.

“Of course we can.” Morgana bluffed. “What’re you staring at?”

At Morgana’s question, Ren’s eyes dragged to Kitagawa, who was indeed observing Morgana in silence. An awkward silence passed and he made way for the door as well. “Excuse me, Amamiya-san. I have something I need to do. I’ll return shortly.”

“Very well.” Ren found himself saying.

“Well that was odd,” Morgana said dryly. “You gonna check it out?”

The affirmative was at the tip of his tongue when he shook his head. “ _You_ were the one who wanted me to trust him.” Against gnawing curiosity, he continued, “Don’t lick the medicine.”

“Wasn’t going to. I’ll just add the finishing touches when I go back home.”

“What can you do?”

Morgana smirked... as best as a cat _could_ smirk. “Interested, are you? Well, I’m glad you asked. Most nekomata can transform but there are others who can use magic instead. One of my powers is healing. There’s nothing I can’t cure.”

An idea swirled in his mind... “Can you form contracts with humans?”

...and it was gone as fast as it came when Morgana gave a shake of his head. “Don’t want to interact with humans too long, even if we find you interesting. Just as some humans can come to use magic, we spirits are the same. Asking to form some bond between you and me would be like you making a mental contract with your samurai. It’d be impossible.”

It had been pointless to ask after all.

“What’s got you so interested in magic? I saw you back in Ne no Kuni with that Shadow. Wouldn’t it be better to just use your own instead of relying on borrowed power?”

Bitterness spun in his words. “You work with what you’re given.”

A pause.

“Touchy subject, huh?” and Morgana sounded almost sympathetic. “It comes slower for some people. Give it some time though. I sense a lot of power in you. Most humans can’t forge a single contract let alone _multiple_ ones with Shadows - even if yours don’t last long. Oh, I... didn’t mean anything bad by that.

“What I mean is: your current ability is special. When you finally _do_ awaken, I can only imagine what you’ll be.”

It hadn’t felt special. It never did. Instead, it was a placating pat on the head that forever cooed, ‘you’ll get there! Don’t give up!’. He found it annoying and pointless if the Shadows wouldn’t walk back with him to the real world, where the magic was _needed_.

...Where was Kitagawa?

“Leaving?”

“I’m going to get Kitagawa,” he said simply. “Guard the door.”

Ren didn’t wait to hear the remainders of Morgana’s protests. He only realized how futile of an order that was; Morgana could very well disappear if he wanted to. From the start, he hadn’t been keen on listening.

Daimyo Sakura’s palace was just like Daimyo Takamaki’s on the inside. Wooden floors and walls, dark ceiling and paper-thin doors. There were no decorations stretched about, but Sojiro was never one for decorating, and Futaba saw little need for them unless they were for _her_ room.

Kitagawa Yusuke’s room was plain.

In the beginning, Kitagawa offered to live with the other samurai in town, but Sojiro declined. It had undoubtedly earned Kitagawa some scorn from Iwakura’s army. To live in a palace than among commoners was a privilege that should have been illegal. But since Kitagawa had been assigned directly to Ren, it only made sense.

The door was open and Ren walked in just as Kitagawa swallowed the contents of that small vial.

“Amamiya?” the honorific was gone, Kitagawa curling his fingers around the bottle. A warning flashed in his eyes. “I said I’d return.”

“We have refreshments in the dining hall,” he started cautiously, hoping it would ease the tension in Kitagawa’s body and voice. “Did you forget that?”

“This is not a simple drink.”

Formalities be damned. “What’s in it?”

“That’s not your concern.”

“It is.” Ren countered coolly. “Not telling me will be a mistake.”

Kitagawa appeared to struggle for the answer. “This... it’s not for you or your family, and I would prohibit anyone but me from drinking it.” he paused. “Does that put your mind at ease?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

_You two have more in common than you think..._

Ren had his threshold of secrets. He should’ve felt guilty for trying to pry his way into Kitagawa’s. But the curiosity — a sudden suspicion that bled into the need to protect his family — burned ever stronger, threatening to blind reason.

“Medicine.”

He blinked. “...Medicine?”

“It’s for my heart. I take it in small doses whenever I remember to.” Kitagawa avoided his eyes.

For the first time, genuine concern slithered through him. It’s for Kitagawa. Something didn’t feel right. “Is it safe to be swinging around a sword?”

“Ineloquence of your phrasing aside, you don’t have to worry. This illness has followed me throughout childhood and has never been an obstacle beyond occasional pain.” He looked back at the vial, observing it with a frown. “I’m afraid I’ve run a bit low.”

“The doctor in town may have what you need. We’ll stop by her clinic before we leave.” At Kitagawa’s reluctance, Ren narrowed his eyes. “Problem?”

He shook his head. “This isn’t something I like to discuss with others.”

Suspicion returned, but he was suddenly too tired to fire another pressing question at Kitagawa. “You can trust her.” was what he finally said. “Pack your things for tomorrow. I have nothing further to discuss with you.”

“Thank you for understanding.” Kitagawa said suddenly, and Ren was almost struck by his sincerity.

He wanted to tell him that this conversation was far from over, or that he shouldn’t be on the royal guard if his heart was as frail as a child’s. But one look at Kitagawa and he knew he couldn’t.

Not yet.

Try as he might, he was unable to fully scrape Kitagawa’s words of gratitude from his mind. The hostility had been traded for a gratefulness Ren _knew_ Kitagawa would regret giving the next time they discussed the medicine. Guilt gripped him like iron, pooled in his stomach and made him nauseous.

What if his orders led to Kitagawa’s death? What if Kitagawa were to have a heart attack in the middle of a fight?

(something told him Kitagawa’s heart condition eluded even Sojiro.)

As he walked back to his room, a new thought nudged him.

‘ _Could Morgana heal a weak heart?_ ’

.

..

“Nope, I can only heal physical wounds.” Morgana said the minute Ren asked that night. “Whatever scarring is on his heart, it’s irreparable. Healing doesn't rewrite genetics and if Kitagawa has heart problems, it’s most likely hereditary. Therefore trying to mess with it will only make it worse.”

He was beginning to feel a weight on his _own_ heart.

A daimyo could control and hire an army of samurai, buy their loyalty through a generous amount of land. But what good would an army be if every two warriors had some hereditary disease? It would be safer to choose from a separate bundle then put loyal men with a higher risk of dying out on the battlefield.

He had no reason to doubt Sojiro’s decisions on who was hired and who was less fortunate, but Ren could not comprehend how Kitagawa Yusuke slipped through whatever trials that had been dished out.

More importantly... “Why didn’t he say anything?”

“He probably didn’t want to be a burden,” Morgana suggested. “Guys like him don’t like admitting weakness.”

“Kitagawa’s not a traditional samurai.”

Morgana’s ear twitched. “And what _is_ a ‘traditional samurai’?”

Someone who was loyal to the bushido code, would have been the right answer. But his mind was useless. “Not Kitagawa...”

There was too much he didn’t know about Kitagawa. It was a minor irritation, like a rash that grew itchier every time Kitagawa looked at him wrong. Before, he was able to ignore it in place of being dismissive or sometimes spiteful. Now, he can’t stop picking at it.

It wasn’t fair, a childish part of him sulked. Kitagawa knew more about Ren than Ren knew about Kitagawa.

Kitagawa knew he was a failure, that he needed protection because he could only function on minimal power. He knew a good portion of his history with Futaba and Sojiro. It wouldn’t surprise him if he could decipher his favorite foods with how informed he seemed to be.

But what did Ren have on him?

A lone samurai who remained stone-faced against harsh criticism from peers and lord alike, someone who was quite knowledgeable in the arts and... Kitagawa _had_ been to Ne no Kuni before. He could lie through his teeth, but Ren _knew_. Just as he knew there was something suspicious with the bottle...

...except suspicion dissolved into concern when he realized it was not poison.

A retainer should know his lord, but his lord should know his retainer.

One of the nobles from Minochi flitted through his brain. The silk of their royal clothes stained red and their eyes staring at nothing with their retainer’s dagger buried to the hilt in their chest...

The image alone should rouse distrust... yet he could not see Kitagawa turning on him. He could not see himself at the sharp end of Kitagawa’s katana or with the blade kissing his neck.

For all the doubt, the revelation about Kitagawa’s heart made him different. _Real_.

...Ren was quite horrible to think such a thing.

“I see you got a lot on your mind, so I’m gonna hit the hay.” Morgana curled up on the futon, his side pressing against Ren’s legs. “Try to remember what I said earlier.”

“You’ve ‘said’ quite a lot today.”

“That I have. If you were wise, you’d reflect on it.”

He didn’t answer, fixating on his ceiling while listening to Morgana’s soft breathing.

It is turning over everything that Morgana spoke of that eventually lulled him to sleep.

When he woke, the warmth of that night had evaporated and the futon was empty.

Morgana was nowhere to be seen.

The second time they came to the north was to enlist him.

When he asked about Natsume Ango, they never gave specifics. ‘He’s doing better’ was their safest response, but for Yusuke, it was the most frustrating. There may have been little to discuss with Natsume should their paths cross again, but Yusuke didn’t like not knowing.

They were men of the east, from Minochi, to be specific. Though it was one of the four states that made up their country along with Akiyama, Yatategi, and Iwakura, Minochi always stood alone on its island. Any who wished to visit the eastern state would have to brave the sea.

Art was what sold him out that day, and it was his intermediate skills with the sword that piqued the men’s interests.

His heart shriveled as they handled his painting with little care. It had not been a piece he was proud of, but he did not care to see art treated so callously.

Frustration had guided his brush, weaving a land with angry mountains and screaming rivers that foamed at the sides.

Were Natsume there, he’d chastise him for such rashness – the ink itself leaked onto the back of the painting! But Natsume would also praise him for the anger and emotion felt in each line and curve.

Were his sensei there—

“Kitagawa Yusuke...” the first man read.

“Kitagawa...?” the other man echoed. “Hey, kid... You grow up in this village?”

The lie sprung to his tongue, pressing against the back of his teeth. He could do it. He could spin his false tale, say he grew up in this modest village of Yatategi...

But all it would take was a quick investigation from older townsfolk to unveil the truth. And where would he be then? Carted along to some dungeon for lying to whatever these people were?

“No.” he answered, but said no more.

“...Is that so?” he peered at the painting in his partner’s grasp. “You’ve got quite a talent. I’d say your art is as professional as some of those in the capital.”

He could not explain the bile that surged up his throat. “Thank you.”

“This one by itself looks like something I’ve seen in an exhibit before. Too bad the artist still isn’t around. He may have taken a liking to you. Maybe teach you a few things.”

Yusuke almost threw up then and there.

“We didn’t come here to talk about art, Yamaguchi...” the first man admonished dryly. He cast aside the painting without a second glance. “I’ll cut to the chase: Natsume talked about you. At first, he spoke about your art and how it helped him write. But that’s not what interested us.” He stood over Yusuke, looking down with eyes hard as steel. “You’re ‘familiar’ with iaijutsu, yes?”

It was not the question he had been expecting. “I am, but I’ve dedicated more of my time to art than I have the sword.”

“I won’t deny the arts are important, but they do not serve your country. If you can wield a blade, you can be molded into what they’re looking for.”

He was puzzled. These men... “Aren’t you from Teret?”

“We’ve _been_ there,” Yamaguchi corrected. “but we will never leave our loyalty with them.

The confusion sank deeper. “Then why did you take Natsume?”

“Stop derailing the conversation,” the first man glowered, and Yusuke gasped sharply when he was dragged to his feet. “Come with us. I want to see your technique first hand.”

Something told him not to protest. His nerves were alight with tension and he feared the wrong slip of the tongue would end with it cut straight from his mouth.

He followed quietly, departing from the modest shack and into the freezing winds that snapped at their retreating backs.

Bracketing the town was a small forest, and they had little to worry for people on hunt during this hour.

It was beneath an audience of bare tree branches and atop carpeted frost when the first man drew his sword.

“Live steel,” he said, unflinching in Yusuke’s shock. “Yamaguchi, lend him yours.”

The katana was heavy in its sheath, and he wanted to force it back into its rightful owner’s hands. Panic was beginning to churn in his stomach and gnaw on his bones. He feared it would seep into his limbs, lock him up and leave him defenseless in the coming torrent of an angry blade.

“I’m not sure I’m ready—”

“Take your stance. You must defend yourself as if I carried every intent to kill you.”

 _With real katana, the possibility of a serious injury –_ death – _was raised ever higher._

“You should do as Konoe Akira says,” Yamaguchi spoke quietly before retreating to the sidelines.

“But this—”

Konoe lunged. The katana whispered free as it began its arc through the air.

Instinct pulled Yusuke into action.

He side-stepped the sudden swing of Konoe’s sword, dragging the borrowed katana from the sheath as he dodged. Turning sharply, he brought the katana with him, fully intending to cut before it swiftly met with Konoe’s downward slash.

Blade slammed against blade. A _clang_ burst in his ears when they touched. Tremors surged down his wrist and arm and danced along his shoulder.

He glimpsed half of Yamaguchi’s katana winking in a shaft of lone sunlight before it dropped uselessly to the frozen floor.

A clean break. The katana would have to make do as a letter opener for the rest of its life.

“You’re fast,” Konoe said, sheathing his blade. “but I’m faster.”

Yamaguchi groaned irritably. “That was my only weapon.”

“If you took any of this seriously, you would have brought more than one sword.”

Yusuke stood, legs trembling from the leftover rush of adrenaline. He turned to Yamaguchi and held out the katana. “My apologies,” When it was taken from him, he asked dryly, “What was the meaning of this?”

“Don’t be that way, Kitagawa,” Konoe returned. “I don’t do things without reason.” He turned to Yamaguchi, an expectant look on his face. “Well?”

Yamaguchi stood, arms akimbo with the split katana occupying one hand. “You were able to break this.”

“But he’s quick.” Konoe countered.

He did not appreciate being evaluated when he was within earshot, but it wasn’t something he was entirely unused to.

Yusuke sat there in shared silence. His arm was still jittery and he thought that if he had practiced, there wouldn’t have been leftover tremors. If the numbness proceeded into the night, he’d have to draw another day.

Yusuke started when Konoe placed a hand on his shoulder. “Your old life will end today and a new one will begin.”

_...What?_

“Bring only what you need and we’ll start your training in Yatategi’s capital.”

“I’m not abandoning my home.” Yusuke returned hotly. “And this is not something I want to do.”

“Don’t be spoiled, Kitagawa.” Konoe warned. “Has it occurred to you why I’ve brought you out here? Away from the talk of villagers?”

“Idle gossip does not bother me—”

“They are not having idle conversation over a fire. Step outside your world and away from art. Listen with your ears and do not sift out the unpleasantries,” he was leering at him now, and Yusuke could feel the frustration in Konoe’s fingers before he released his shoulder. “Word travels fast, especially in a place as small as the north. Not knowing how to defend yourself will end with your death.”

Dread settled in his chest, drawing doubt and a sudden reluctance he hadn’t known was there. Perhaps it was always there and Konoe was peeling back the layers with careful words.

“If you stay here any longer, Kitagawa...”

The wind held its breath. Snow began to descend from gray clouds.

“...they will kill you for what you did.”

.

..

He left with the heaviest reluctance that ever sat upon his shoulders. But could he truly have called it reluctance when a part of him had always been afraid of the villagers? They rarely made contact with him, after all.

 _And what of art?,_ he had asked Konoe.

“When they’ve forgotten who you are, you can return to it,” he answered. “But as of now, you are no longer Kitagawa Yusuke, the artist. Become something they don’t know or they will find you again.”

It hurt to part with the old shack, and he winced when Konoe Akira threw his art supplies into the fire. He really _did_ care for that shoddy painting. Looking back on it, he pondered if it was because that painting had been his last. An artist’s final piece should be brimming with beauty, extending its hands to the audience.

His did not do that. His lived to see three faces before meeting its demise.

The paper curled and withered, charcoal and ash choking the air until there was nothing left.

“We knew Nastume,” Yamaguchi explained as they embarked that night. “We’ve had our eyes on you both or a while now.”

“Living off commissions is ignorant,” Konoe cut in harshly. “What would you have done if we grew tired of your art?”

His heart jumped into his throat. “ _You_ were paying us?”

The artwork had always been left at the bridge an hour-walk from town. He’d never met the courier himself, allowing Natsume or some acquaintance to carry the load. Even when Natsume disappeared, he still tried to catch the tail end of whoever was making village deliveries for that week.

( _Had they always been scared of me?_ He wondered, recalling the hesitance on the man’s face even _after_ coin had been placed in-hand.)

“And we wouldn’t have put in money if we didn’t see something in either of you. But while Natsume wanted to start a new life away from Riiben, you wanted to stay here, correct?” he waited, and Yusuke nodded slowly. “Which is why we’re bringing you with us. You can still fight for Yatategi if you wish. After you’ve gained enough experience, that is. Aim for the top and you’ll get to choose where you want to go.”

Konoe scoffed. “Maybe you’ll find some artistic inspiration along the way.”

Yusuke gritted his teeth, accidentally scraping the tip of his tongue. He wanted so badly to protest, to tell him not to mock him... yet he was the one running away from a village that secretly scorned him.

Loathe as he was to admit, Konoe Akira and Yamaguchi were doing him a favor.

“What would you have me do?” he said.

“That’s not for us to decide, but you’ll be put with other warriors. You need to be trained before you can be put on the front lines. Behave yourself and you’ll be rewarded.”

“You are aware that this was the first time I’ve used a blade in...” Yusuke himself could not remember. “...years.”

“Your reflexes never faded and that’s all I needed to know. If you hadn’t been able to defend yourself, then we would have no choice but to send Natsume a depressing letter.”

A chill swept through him not carried by the wind. “You did intend to kill me.”

“Collateral damage is what we call it,” Konoe corrected nonchalantly. “But don’t think on it too much. Train and work harder and we can duel again. We’ll use toy swords next time.”

He was mocking him again.

How _offensive_.

“The next sword to break will be yours.” Yusuke retorted.

Konoe’s laugh exploded in the quiet of the night. “Natsume was right: You’ve got quite an edge.”

Yusuke wanted to know about Natsume, about how they knew him and just how long they were in communication. But as the night dragged on and his feet grew stiffer, he didn’t have it in him to speak. He chanced a look over his shoulder and found nothing but trees and cold ground.

They left the village behind, and Yusuke knew the chances of returning had been left behind too.

“Oh,” and Konoe turned to him, a card pinched between his index and middle fingers. A hanafuda card. This one was of a painting with cherry blossoms and a crane with a red patch on its head. “A little commencement gift.”

The paper was thicker than he’d been anticipating. It’d felt as if there had been two glued together instead of one. He found nothing when he turned it over. “Thank you.” he said, albeit quite confused.

“You know how to play, don’t you?”

Yusuke shook his head, honest.

“Hm. Well, don’t lose that and maybe I’ll teach you.”

‘ _Didn’t you give Natsume one as well?_ ’ he almost asked, but something stopped him. He couldn’t understand _what_.

When idle conversation broke between Yamaguchi and Konoe, Yusuke reached into his belongings for the vial.

He took a sip quietly.

The liquid was burning ice as it slithered down his throat.

.

..

Yusuke awoke with a start, the edges of his tongue bitter as if he’d swallowed that very concoction in his sleep. The rough teeth of tree bark dug into his back as he shifted, pulling himself out of his slouch. Dirt and mud were caked against his palms and he rubbed them against his hakama.

“Are you alright?”

Amamiya’s voice came from above and he started. His head dipped in a tired nod.

They left before the sun could touch Iwakura.

Yusuke didn’t know if Amamiya had spoken with daimyo Sakura, but he himself had not bid farewell to anyone of importance. Zenkichi Hasegawa was nowhere to be found in the palace, and Futaba was still asleep when they left. Calling for an audience with Sakura Sojiro was impossible for someone of his status.

And the clinic in town? Why, he never went, of course.

But Amamiya didn’t need to know that.

The current goal was escort Amamiya to Yatategi’s Ne no Kuni.

Speaking of Amamiya, he was rather still as he watched Yusuke quietly.

“What’s wrong?”

He hesitated, as he always did whenever they talked. “You talk in your sleep.”

And he turned those words over in his head again and again. Natsume had told him the same thing when they used to live together. Sometimes he would mumble nonsense, other times there were coherent, clipped sentences.

“What did I say?” Yusuke asked, his body oddly relaxed against the anticipation swelling inside him.

Amamiya paused. “Someone called ‘Konoe’.”

Yusuke would have traded coherent for nonsense sleep talk if he could. Of all the things to say, it simply had to have been _that_.

“Was his name...”

He hummed.

Amamiya tried again. “Was his first name Akira?”

Now their eyes met.

There were no doubts that Konoe Akira had been an important figurehead to the north. The people recognized him when Yusuke arrived further north. Surely his name would have traveled to the south as well.

“What is he to you?” Yusuke finally said.

“No one special,” Amamiya seemed to answer honestly. He sat down across from him. “Konoe was someone I met when I was very young. I hardly remember his face or what he did.”

“I see...” and he stopped.

There was much ground for them to cover together, many secrets that had to be shared if they were to ever have a mutual bond of trust. Yusuke held the secrets close to his heart, but it would do little harm to start small.

Amamiya’s face had been creased with genuine concern when Yusuke spoke of the vial and his... weak heart. In the end, Yusuke shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been Amamiya after all who gave him the jar of medicine in Akiyama. There was kindness in his lord, but only in rare times would Amamiya allow someone to see it up close.

Yusuke had been fortunate to be on the receiving end.

“Konoe was my first sensei,” he found himself saying. “He was the one who saw potential in me and instilled the beginning lessons. When I was ready to graduate, I was under someone else’s tutelage.”

“Was he a difficult mentor?”

“Very,” Yusuke responded. He’d left the training grounds with welts on not just his hands. “but it was necessary. I wouldn’t be where I am today if not for them.”

Amamiya’s gaze slipped to a spot on the ground between them. The mask he always wore was slipping from his forehead to rest back on his cheekbones. Slowly, his face softened. Dark bangs laid delicately along his forehead and the storm that could always be found in his gray eyes had lulled.

A calm before the storm.

Titles did not come to him naturally, but he felt this one fit Amamiya.

“...What are you doing?”

The composition was broken, and a protest rose to Yusuke’s lips (“Please, return to your prior position!”) before it died just as quickly as it came. His own hands were raised before his face, fingers framing Amamiya, and he dropped them back into his lap. Something felt hollow in his chest.

The last time he had done that

(“ _Kitagawa, what is this?_ ” _A scoff._ “ _Leave art to the nobles. Free time should be spent serving the daimyo, not drawing.”_ )

was a long time ago. Framing things had been a habit beaten out of him between short reprimands and bamboo swords.

“I don’t mind,” Amamiya said hastily. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you do that.”

“I suppose it would be,” Yusuke muttered, unable to keep out the bitterness. He backpedaled. “I’m sorry. That was not directed at you.”

“Don’t be,” he stared at Yusuke or a moment before he spoke once more. Careful this time. “Have you always... known what you wanted to do?”

“I have. But it doesn’t mean that’s what was given to me,” in that moment, he decided it best to speak of art later. Not ‘never’. Later. “If I may ask, when did you start your prayers to Philemon?”

He needn’t be told it was a sensitive topic. Yusuke had practically memorized the look of irritation that folded Amamiya’s face when something dangerously close to magic was brought up. It was odd though, for he never spoke of magic that much around Amamiya. Around _anyone_.

But Amamiya surprised him a third time. “Since I was a child.”

“That’s a long time.” He wasn’t sure why he said that.

“It is,” Amamiya agreed, eyes never leaving his. “Philemon can only guide us. When it answers, it unlocks something in us if we have potential. The true awakening is something the people themselves must do...” he trailed off, dejected and frowning once again.

Yusuke realized he really didn’t like that look on Amamiya’s face. It should never be.

“My mentor— Futaba’s mother... She disappeared before she could teach either one of us. Sojiro tried to help instead,” he scoffed. “but he can’t use it.”

“Magic isn’t for everyone...” Yusuke assured quietly.

“Can _you_ use it?”

The question astonished him and he blinked in the face of it. “Why does it matter?”

Amamiya didn’t answer.

Slowly, Yusuke shook his head. “When you had the nekomata, I couldn’t understand what he was saying. But you and Hasegawa could... That must mean there’s something in you. Or else you would’ve been just as deaf to its voice as I was.”

“Hmm...”

Amamiya said no more.

“You’ve more pressure than I do. But I have no doubt you will wake when the time is right.” Yusuke pushed himself off the ground, legs stiff from sitting for so long. He extended a hand to Amamiya. “That’s what I believe.”

Amamiya let himself be pulled to his feet. He didn’t look convinced, but his voice was soft. “Thanks.”

Yusuke let go and tried not to think of Amamiya’s calloused fingertips. He had delicate hands, but they spoke of hard labor. Of training, and his mind flashed briefly to the day in Akiyama’s Ne no Kuni.

“Come,” he said, turning. “We’ve a long walk ahead of us.”

Amamiya nodded. “We do.”


	5. Chapter 5

There was a saying about Yatategi: It was the place seasons went to die.

Some liked to spin tales that even _winter_ succumbed to the frigidness of Yatategi, or that the ice and snow was not _truly_ ice and snow, but the physical breath of the dead. After all, Yatategi was isolated from the other nations not for its ruler but for its uninhabitability.

Those born on nights when the cold snaked its way into flesh were the ones who could live in the north... if they so dared. A summer child or a spring babe would never last a day in Yatategi.

It was cold for him, but Kitagawa seemed less bothered.

Ren regretted declining mounts to carry them from Iwakura to Yatategi.

Koya was small territory nestled on the mountains’ shelves and encircled by a barricade wall. The buildings were plain and modest with wood and tiled roofs. They were lined carefully along the stone road that slithered from the entry gate and plunged through the belly of the village.

Outside Koya was a screaming river that frothed like an animal gone mad. It quarreled with the shore next to the path that would lead them to the capital.

Ren was less eager for that part of their expedition.

“We shouldn’t stay more than a night,” Kitagawa suggested when they arrived at the lodging. It was a modest, two-story long wooden building tucked against the slanted road.

“Agreed.” Ren said.

The common room was not so much a common room as it was a wide hallway. There was a table diagonal from the wooden staircase carved out of the wall, and across from that was a door leading to the inn’s bathhouse. A painting of Yatategi’s first ruler hung on the wall by the reception desk.

If the owner recognized them, he did not say anything. Like the painting, he too was old, and it wouldn’t surprise Ren if the current happenings outside Yatategi slipped the man’s mind.

“There’s a shrine up the mountain,” Kitagawa said once they retreated to their room and were hidden behind closed doors. “Will you go?”

He opened his mouth to decline, then stopped. Morgana’s words flew back to him, about the difference in Yatategi’s Ne no Kuni and Iwakura’s. There were two days from Yatategi’s capital, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to visit now.

Doing so would be signing up for an instant failure. Philemon’s influence had always been strongest at the capitals, not some city shrine.

To glimpse a taste of the different energy, if it _existed_ , may help him.

( _with what?_ )

“Yeah. Let’s.”

Minutes later found them both weighed down by a hanten that would ward off the night’s chill. There was no one in the common room, but he heard voices from behind the closed doors on the second floor. When the innkeeper asked where they were going at such a late hour, he lied.

“We have food here if you’re hungry,” he suggested.

Ren shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, but we’ve come to a decision.”

Koya was a different world after evening departed with less people roaming about. At the south end of the road, the lights of stores and yatai winked like owl eyes against the backdrop of the night.

Ren had barely turned when Kitagawa’s stomach growled.

“Sorry,” he said, and the light from the adjacent lantern bounced off his face as he averted his gaze. Ren blinked at the soft blush that dusted itself across Kitagawa’s cheeks. Or maybe it was the cold making his face red. “I haven’t eaten since last night.”

And Ren frowned. “Last night?” he echoed.

“When there are priorities at hand, I often forget.”

“Eating _is_ a priority.” He retorted dryly.

Kitagawa stared.

He had maybe a handful of coins on him which would be enough for one of them. The rest of his currency was back in their room under the futon and would be put to better use.

It was with boldness that he grabbed Kitagawa’s wrist, steering them in the direction of town.

“Amamiya-san? Where are—”

“We’re getting you something to eat.”

“I’ve gone without a meal before,” Kitagawa protested weakly. His stomach grumbled in agreement. “We shouldn’t let this distract us from the mission.”

“Then I’m giving you a new order: to eat.” _I’m even covering for you_ , he almost added, but found it unnecessary.

The hill was steep, but they walked carefully all the way into the heart of town. Red and yellow lights painted the stones, casting shadows from the chairs parked around some of the yatai and exaggerating the shadows of late customers.

Ren could distinguish the different foods being offered. Most of it was ramen practically drowned in shoyu sauce with strong scallions resting freely in its broth, but there was gyoza and tempura at another.

He supposed it would be Kitagawa’s decision and not his own.

“Oh...”

“What is it?”

But Kitagawa had already broken from his side, approaching one of the food stalls. It was orange, traditional lanterns hanging from its thin rafters and the words _Curry_ painted in thick black ink on the curtain. Eastern food, but not a delicacy too common in Iwakura. The spices stung his nose and he blinked hard in the face of both the smell and the brightness.

Scribbled on a small sign positioned by one of the stools were the prices. A single meal of chicken curry was two silver and 15 copper, but it was the lowest priced on the menu.

His stomach twisted in hunger. “Do you want some?”

Kitagawa’s face pinched in a small frown. “It’s rather expensive.”

“And it’ll fill you up for the night.” Ren concluded, and he wondered if it was his own craving that spoke.

No further protests had been made when Ren put in the order. They took their seats at the end of the bar, away from any curious heads that dared turn in their direction.

Silence dripped between them, but Ren did not feel an unease. He wondered if it was the noise of the cook shuffling from one station to another, preparing and serving food. Maybe it was the way the other customers talked with one another, so amicable and friendly, completely ignorant to the impending chaos outside Koya’s bubble.

(or maybe they _are_ aware. Maybe they’re trying to distract themselves with a warm dinner.)

“May I ask you something?”

Kitagawa’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts. Slowly, he nodded.

“If this is the appropriate time for such a topic...” Kitagawa sat forward, forearms resting on his thighs. It was not quite the formal way of sitting Ren was used to seeing, but Koya’s nightly calm must have rolled over Kitagawa too. “How did you meet Hasegawa?”

“Zenkichi...” Ren bit the inside of his lip, staring hard at the edge of the countertop. The wood was worn, gouged by one too many careless blades, no doubt. It was less distracting to look at _that_ than Kitagawa’s expecting face.

“As I said,” Kitagawa started. “If you’d prefer I speak of something else...”

He shook his head swiftly. “We met when I was younger. Around the time I started praying to Philemon.”

“So, he knew daimyo Sakura?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” and it wasn’t in his right to spill the secrets of Zenkichi’s life to Kitagawa. “He’s sacrificed a lot to help me get to where I am. I owe him for a favor. Once this is over, I’d like to repay it.”

Kitagawa offered, “Is it land he wants?”

“Something modest,” Ren answered truthfully. Somewhere far away from war and conflict, somewhere he could live without having to step into the shadows again. “You’re the same: You don’t want land or food either.”

“I have little need for land. Although, I won’t object waking to a small breakfast of grilled fish and rice.”

He said it so nonchalantly Ren could not fight back the smirk that tugged at his lips. “I wouldn’t call that ‘small’.”

Kitagawa blinked in genuine surprise. “It’s not?”

“Takes a while to cook a fish,” _and catch it_. The way Kitagawa was going, he’d probably want it fresh out of the freezing hydration of the closest river. “and marinate it. Have that every day and you might as well throw your money into fire.”

“But would it truly be a waste?” Kitagawa sniffed as he sat straighter.

“Food is important, but there are other things you need to do to keep the roof over your head.” He thought back to Akira Konoe, the name Yusuke had murmured in his sleep. “Samurai don’t have to pay for anything if they have a master. When you were with Konoe, was it different?”

“Konoe was not my lord,” Kitagawa corrected. “He was a teacher to me and many others, but I have never lived with him.”

Right.

Kitagawa had _two_ teachers, as far as Ren knew. He didn’t know the name of the second one, and something told him now was not the right time to ask. Digging into one another’s pasts always brought chucked another roadblock into whatever small amount of progress they made.

But if Futaba could break through, so could he.

 _Futaba_...

“What were you talking about yesterday?”

Kitagawa quirked his head. “With...?”

“Futaba,” bitterness began to swell in his stomach, but he pushed it down. He _tried_. “Mentioned photography and a painting.”

“That?” confusion laced his voice. “We were discussing art. Futaba has an observant eye and wanted to show me some of the paintings daimyo Sakura had in the palace,” he paused. “Within reason, of course.”

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push the sight of Futaba’s wide eyes and running mouth as she had talked without abandon. Without worry. It had taken her _weeks_ to open up to Ren, but Kitagawa had done what Ren did in less time.

Kitagawa Yusuke. A stranger. Someone Futaba only spoke to once or twice before yesterday’s spiritual conversation.

( _The one thing you thought no one else could do, and Kitagawa just came and wrenched it right out of your pathetic grasp..._ )

She was making progress; Ren should feel proud of her.

He doesn’t.

‘ _I really am the worst._ ’

“Sorry for the wait,” the cook set the plate down in front of Kitagawa. “Enjoy!”

Immediately, he regretted not ordering something for himself. Perhaps it was the negative emotions carving a hole in his stomach or maybe he really _was_ hungry, but Ren turned away from Kitagawa’s dinner (“Thank you for the meal”) to stare down the bright street.

“Amamiya-san?”

Leftover spite tempted him to take his sweet time with answering. Kitagawa probably had the abundance of patience to deal with it. “Yes?”

The plate scraped against the countertop. “I haven’t sampled it yet, but you appeared hungry,” Kitagawa held out the spoon. “Would you like the first taste?”

‘ _I bought this for you_.’ He almost said, but the smell made his mouth water. The curry rested against the generous spoonful of rice. Beneath the spicy smell was something else. Something _sweeter_ and he didn’t know how was able to detect it, but he did.

It struck him that he indeed had this before, or a version very similar. When he was twelve, when

( _Futaba begged for seconds, Wakaba smiling softly, and Sojiro muttering something about ‘damn kids’, but there was never anger in his voice. Not with them._ )

there were happier days.

The homesickness topped with Kitagawa’s generosity almost made him gag. Forcing a smile, he said, “It’s all yours.”

He was grateful when Kitagawa reacted no more than a puzzled frown. Ren went back to staring up the street, eyes tracing the path branching into the mountains. There was a small gate that stood weakly against the backdrop of the dark trees, but where there was a gate, there was a shrine not far behind.

It was a small blessing.

Koya’s Ne no Kuni was colder than the cool autumn breeze running through Akiyama’s. Though he was dressed to the teeth in winter garb, it didn’t stop the chill needling through the thinner fabric around his neck. His ears were beginning to ache from the cold when Amamiya decided to return. Yusuke was grateful there had been no Shadows, but they hadn’t spent more than a handful of minutes in Ne no Kuni.

The bare trees with their branches clacking together reminded him of the village he and Natsume lived in. The one Konoe took them from.

It filled him with nausea.

...He left the vial in the shared room with Amamiya.

They embarked from the clutch of yatai and night stands to continue their quiet trek up Koya’s spine and into the mountains. Navigating the dark was not easy, but there had been a row of lamps with sputtering fires to light their way to the shrine. Yusuke did not think leaving flames unattended and lapping at forest air was a wise decision, but who was he to judge?

“Was it any different?” Amamiya asked as they departed the forest.

Yusuke was honest. “Colder.” The atmosphere was heavier too, weighing down on his shoulders as if someone were standing on them. But he felt it better not to mention this to Amamiya.

“I didn’t feel anything.”

“You were not missing out on much,” Yusuke offered carefully.

He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, and Amamiya’s answering silence did not soothe that insecurity.

Only an hour had passed since they left, but the innkeeper was no longer at his perch. The room was unsurprisingly empty, but Yusuke could hear more voices in the rooms than when they first arrived.

He barely sat down in the futon when Amamiya crossed to the door. “Do you need something?”

Amamiya looked back at him. “I’m taking a bath.” his hand dropped from the door handle. “Want to join?”

Yusuke blinked in the face of his casualness. He’s bathed with other men back when he was still training with Konoe, but never with Konoe himself. To bathe in the presence of someone of a higher status felt taboo... but was it? He wasn’t sure, and the blankness that took over his mind delayed his response.

“You don’t have to.” Amamiya offered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

But the more he thought about their journey tomorrow, the more appealing the bath sounded. It would be rude to arrive in Yatategi’s capital reeking of travel. The daimyo certainly wouldn’t appreciate it.

“If it is acceptable...”

“I’m offering, Kitagawa.”

The room branching off from the lobby was not a traditional bathhouse as he was expecting. It was much smaller with stone flooring and a moderate-sized, wooden tub against the open window. There were buckets on the tub’s shelf, but the overall room was no different from the ones he bathed in around Yatategi.

He looked down when he stepped in a cold spot of water left over by the last visitor.

“Here.” Amamiya all but shoved the basket in his direction. When Yusuke didn’t respond quick enough, he gestured to the corner of the room farthest from the water. “For your clothes.”

Yusuke didn’t look as Amamiya undressed, a foreign unease taking over his own mind as he slid out of his own clothes. There was no reason to let his hair down, so he chanced a look over his shoulder at Amamiya, who was amid rinsing himself with one of the washbowls.

It was bizarre seeing Amamiya’s exposed skin. Smooth, light muscle rippling as he put aside the bucket, his body completely unblemished except for one line of puckered skin running from his lower back to his left hip.

He was not a stranger to scars, knowing full well his own body was alit with smaller ones. Or so it felt. There was truth in Konoe’s praise that Yusuke was fast; brigands with clumsy sword or axe swings scarcely hit him.

“A Shadow did it.” Amamiya said, and Yusuke tore his gaze away, unaware he had been staring for as long as he did.

The water was lukewarm, and he shuddered as it rushed over him. He rubbed at the water that slipped past his clenched eyes. “When you were younger?”

“Yeah...” when they clambered into the tub (Yusuke keeping his eyes front or averted when Amamiya crouched), Amamiya said, “We should avoid talking about that place. For now.”

Eliminating that topic somehow left them to silence once more. Amamiya was staring at the water’s immobile surface when Yusuke slipped in. He sank lower to cover his immodesty, face and neck suddenly warm.

“Could you tell me about art?”

Amamiya’s sudden question astonished him. “I could. But art is a broad topic and I’m afraid I’m out of practice as well.” Four years, to be precise _._ _“_ Was there something particular you had in mind?”

“I’ve seen artists frame their subject before painting,” and he hesitated. “I saw you do it too. With me.”

“It’s for measuring. It helps us envision the scene we wish to draw on paper.” Though with how much he did it ( _used_ to, his mind corrects), Yusuke had come to liken his usage of ‘framing’ to a habit. It wasn’t something he was self-conscious of until he joined Konoe. Art was for the nobles, not for samurai.

“Do you have any paintings left?”

He tried not to think of Futaba teasing him about shunga. “N-Not with me.”

“I meant that _you_ made.”

His pulse murmured loudly in his throat, heart skipping in his chest. He was asked that once (“ _are you still drawing, Kitagawa?_ ”), so why did it feel as if he’d been caught? Guilt would coax him to spill the truth, shame would make him rip up the drawings until his fingers ached.

Konoe only burned the one painting. Anything that came after was done by Yusuke’s own reluctant hand.

And it was that same reluctance that nearly kept his answer behind his lips. “No.”

“You didn’t want this life.” It wasn’t a question, and when he looked to Amamiya, it felt different. It was as if something had been pried away. A stubborn barrier between them that was only one of many. There was understanding in his eyes, and if Yusuke dug deeper, maybe pity.

( _was Amamiya speaking to him, or about himself?)_

All Yusuke could do was agree. “If it had been my decision, we would have never met.”

“I could say the same if it were mine.”

Sometimes, he wondered what divine being liked to curl and knot the threads of fate - to see how many binds It could make until the cord snapped. Who on earth weaved his own thread, and who spun Amamiya’s? Who thought it was right to bundle mismatched strands together until they were finally choked the spinner’s wheel? A happier, easier life would have been granted to them both if their fates never touched.

But they did, and he could feel it dragging his body down a path he would never have placed foot on.

“You ever wish you could go back to it?” at Yusuke’s confused stare, Amamiya said, “Art.”

 _More than you know_ , but all he could do was nod.

Paintings and images should be pure, capturing and making beauty personified and tangible for those that have never picked up a brush. Even in the darkest illustrations, there was a beauty to them. When he was younger, he dreamed of making it his own, inspiring others the way his teacher inspired him.

The minute he turned his back on the first village and stained his hands not with paint but with blood, Yusuke knew it in his heart. He _always_ knew.

He didn’t deserve art. He would forever be chained to the sword and the code.

As it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bonus/Trivia for chapter 5!](https://ne-no-kuni.dreamwidth.org/1753.html)


	6. Chapter 6

Ren never memorized the words on paper, but he always heard them recited by his parents.

“I ask the dweller between the conscious and unconscious,” he recited, and his knees were beginning to sting from kneeling in the chiseled path. “to grant me permission to the world unknown to man. If I am worthy of your divine blessing, I will repay my life through eternal servitude. If I am not, then may my knowledge of our meeting be wiped clean.”

Ren looked up at Philemon’s statue hopefully as a gust of wind washed over him.

Then, it stopped.

He started again.

“I ask the dweller between the conscious and unconscious—” the second gust of wind jammed the words back in his throat and tugged viciously at his clothes. He clenched his hands together tighter. “I’m asking to enter Ne no Kuni. I don’t want power; I want guidance.”

_I won’t use it for evil. I’ll be good— I’ll use it for good. To protect._

...but he had nothing left to protect. _He_ was the one being protected; it was never the other way around nor could it be.

“Please,” he begged. “You helped my parents and they said you’d help me if something happened. We’ve given you food to eat.” An idea flickered in his mind. “Do you want more? I can do that.”

When he was unanswered the third time, he almost flung himself to his feet and stomped away. But they gave him strict instructions: Go to the closest altar. Minochi had many abandoned towns, but there were no shortages of tiny housings to the gods.

Ren knew, deep down, that if he didn’t try, he wouldn’t know where to go. At least he was here – somewhere – in the middle of nowhere, but it was a destination. He couldn’t go back from where he came. His parents told him not to.

Something bright and colorful caught the corner of his eye, and he peeled his eyes from the statue. Nature had begun taking back what was rightfully Hers, consuming long-abandoned, burned houses with ivy and grass snares planted around what remained of rotten floorboards.

Further away from the leftovers of the village was a small patch of wildflowers. The sun bounced off their colorful petals as they danced to the music of the cool afternoon breeze.

A child’s 8-year old mind could not name every flower that cropped up from sun-fed grass. Or maybe they could, but Ren was none the wiser.

They were tiny things, orange and white and yellow cups with a core of pollen; some were purple and others were blue and red. His fingers grew sticky as he plucked and unearthed them, dew smearing onto open palms and he wiped his pant legs as he moved from one clutch to another.

For a while, he collected and collected, lost in a sea of wildlife, startling small insects as he wadded along.

His mother liked the purple ones. Sometimes when they traveled, they would stop and collect flowers. Ren didn’t mind. It was more time to spend with his family, and he would never forget the way his father tried to hide a smile of endearment.

But their hard work in the field went to Philemon. Travelers didn’t have a place to keep flowers.

A misshapen bouquet later and Ren returned to the altar. There were no words that needed saying and he piled them at the stone floor. Orange atop yellow and red, purple atop white and blue...

(“ _Don’t be so careless.” His mother had said firmly, but soft. “Philemon will open his ears if you are more careful with the offerings.”_ )

Compared to his mother’s arrangements, his were so...

...chaotic.

They sat there quietly, no longer dancing to Nature’s music and laying in a pile where they would soon die. Time would wither them away, suck out their color and make them weep for the life they could have had if Ren were not there. Their leaves would crack painfully from the wind’s caress.

He couldn’t even arrange them beautifully. Not like his mother. Not like his father.

Kneeling, he picked at one and then another, setting them aside and organizing by color.

Red to red, orange to orange...

(“ _No, not like that. Like_ this—”)

White to white, blue to blue...

(“ _There you go. You’re getting better at this. Do you remember the name of this one?_ ”)

A small purple flower with a spray of white surrounding its golden center.

(“ _Violet, yes_.” ... “ _Maybe that was a little too easy for you.”)_

He twirled the stem between his thumb and forefinger, watching it spin, spin, spin, like those colorful wheels at village festivals.

Ren never did find out what those wheels were used for.

(“ _When living things die, Ren, they return to the earth. So, when times are tough or when you feel alone, remember that we are always with you. As a part of the path you choose._ ”)

The violet crumbled.

He ground it between his hands, rubbing them together and streaking pale palms with shriveled, rolled petals and green. His throat hurt, his eyes burned, and he stomped to his feet before he brought a foot down on the bushel of flowers.

He caught glimpses of the mosaic of color before he smothered them, grunting with effort as he twisted them beneath his sandal, as if trying to smother them back to the dirt they crawled out of.

If they could take away a family of people, what was stopping him from breaking apart a family of flowers?

They wouldn’t have time to bake and shrivel in the hot sun, but they would die away from their little field (their home) a few feet away.

Dark satisfaction filled him, and he reached down, pulling their little heads from their frail bodies.

Philemon could strike him where he stood for destroying such a barbaric arrangement; he didn’t care. A God would not protect the people who pledged a loyalty that would follow them to their inevitable graves. Yet He would let flowers live undeterred by harsh conflicts.

‘ _This is what I think of you stupid gods!_ ’ he shouted in his mind.

The lump in his throat felt as if it had expanded thrice its size, and he scrubbed at his eyes (how they _itched_!). His mouth wobbled, and he was suddenly glad he hadn’t screamed his curses aloud. He did not care if Philemon heard his ire, but his mind was reluctant to trust his voice.

When it was over, there was nothing but a pile of brutally maimed, floral corpses. Like a battlefield, their ‘blood’ streaked the stones in colorful stripes.

A twisted pride filled his chest ( _I did that. I ruined the offering)_ and he kicked at it once more for good measure, scattering them to the air.

Go to the nearest shrine... pray... believe in yourself... only then will Philemon help you.

He did all of that.

And Philemon hesitated.

His parents lied to him with their dying breaths. And through His apathy, Philemon betrayed Ren’s entire family.

The hand that fell upon his shoulder stole a choked exclaim from his throat. He twisted as he fell, digging his nails and scratching and digging his nails into their grip. It moved to his small forearm.

“Let me go! _Let me go_!!”

“Amamiya!” the voice cracked through him, and Ren stopped struggling. There had been familiarity in the way the voice’s owner spoke his name... No, it was the _voice_ itself that was familiar.

Hasegawa Zenkichi was frowning, displeased, but something beneath his eyes was what Ren wanted to believe was concern.

(not pity. _Never_ pity. Ren would not take pity.)

Ren was expecting a slap to the face, a hard shake before he was forced to bow under the barrage of harsh reprimands – how he was a dumb kid, how he shouldn’t wander off...

Thinking back on it, Ren didn’t know Zenkichi as well as he thought he did, because Zenkichi did none of those.

“Damn brat...” he whispered, bopping him lightly on the head. Despite his words, Zenkichi looked sad. “Don’t do that again.”

Ren stared back, mouth agape. ‘ _But why? Didn’t I disobey you? Aren’t you going to yell at me?_ ’

“Come on, let’s get you home.” and his eyes shifted to something by Ren’s leg.

A lone violet that survived his torrent of anger.

“You know,” Zenkichi started slowly, swiping it from the ground. “Akane likes these.” and he gently pried open Ren’s tiny fist. The violet was warm in his palm, and he did not move as Zenkichi curled his fingers around the stem. “How about we give this to her as a peace offering?”

‘ _Mom liked them too. They were her favorite_.’ He wanted to say.

It would have been better to be scolded.

He recognized that gentleness. It was one only a caring father could show to a child, and it did not take long for Zenkichi to blur in his vision.

Ren let himself be buried against Zenkichi. The sobs rattled in his chest and he tried his hardest to smother each one by curling and biting his lips.

It could not stop his tears.

The violet was not crushed that time. Instead, it hung tightly in his grasp, and he held on with no intention of letting go.

A part of the path he chose...

Violets were his mother’s favorite.

They always were.

.

..

“...miya... ... ...Amamiya-san.”

Kitagawa’s voice broke through his sleep-hazed mind and he started. The night breeze streaming through the window struck his face, and he was dimly aware that his face was wet.

Ren sat up hastily, wiping at his eyes harshly with the back of his hand. “What is it?” he asked, grateful when his voice did not crack. When Kitagawa didn’t answer quickly enough, he looked to him, frowning. “Why’d you wake me up?”

“You were...” he shook his head. “I ask you keep your voice down and get dressed.”

Suddenly, Ren noticed Kitagawa’s change of attire into a dark kimono and hakama set. It was not loungewear; Kitagawa was ready for travel. He was about to ask for more information when the voices split down the hall.

(“...Lord Amamiya?”

“He was seen traveling with his Retainer, Kitagawa Yusuke.”

“I’m sorry... We got here very late.”)

Ren did not recognize the accent of the interrogating man (a name to their accent was _there_ ; so close but so far out of reach) but their Eastern tongue was fluent. ‘ _Someone from Teret? Or is it...?_ ’

Kitagawa refused to look at him while he changed, standing quietly with a hand on his hilt and eyes narrowed dangerously at the door.

“Let’s go,” Ren said quietly, and he pushed the window open wider.

They were on the second floor, and landing from such a height not only brought the risk of a broken ankle (or worse), but it would undoubtedly make noise. The town square glowed calmly and beyond that was the entrance gate to Koya. If they could climb down without making any noise, then...

“Amamiya-san, I have a proposal.”

“Go on.”

“We can’t bring these with us to the capital; they’ll weigh us down.” (Ren did not need to look to know Kitagawa was referring to their supplies.) “If we can safely reach ground level, we can throw them into the river. Leaving them at the inn would put Koya’s residents at risk.”

The voices grew closer.

He hoisted the bag over his shoulder, making a small noise in the back of his throat as its weight sagged to the right. There was no way they could run with these.

“You should go first,” Kitagawa said. “The lower roof won’t be able to hold both our weights at the same time.”

(“Man, it’s _2 in the morning_! Somebody better be— _Oh_! Guh-Good morning, sir.”)

Ren clambered out the window, gripping Kitagawa’s wrist when help was offered. He hung there, feet touching air with the bag threatening to slip from his shoulder if he so much as moved the wrong way.

All it would take was one mess-up for it to be over...

He looked up to Kitagawa, who was waiting expectantly.

Slowly, Ren nodded.

His foot slipped when he landed on the tiled roof and he crashed forward into the inn’s wall.

Heart clambering into his throat, he listened quietly with Kitagawa.

“Keep going.” Kitagawa whispered after a beat.

Sitting as best he could on the slim roof, he slid towards the edge, gripping it carefully as he maneuvered himself over.

It was impossible to not make noise as he landed from the first awning to the ground, but he was grateful for landing properly on his feet this time. The shock surged from the soles of his feet up his legs. He watched quietly as Kitagawa climbed out the window.

He was quicker at clambering down, managing his own bag and sword with ease. Once he touched the stone floor, Ren waved him over.

They clung to the shadows as they hurried down the main street of Koya, ducking away from the stands with too many people. There were no problems navigating out of Koya until they reached the gate.

“Did you hear something?” one of the guards asked.

“Probably the river again...” said the other.

Ren cursed. This was the only way out of Koya, and they wouldn’t be able to scale another house with their bags.

“What did those guys want?”

The second guard scoffed. “Who cares? Minochi bastards... Probably here to stop for the night before going to Yatategi.”

“But they were coming from the south. Has something happened in Iwakura?”

Now Kitagawa was leaning forward and listening too.

“We’re not getting paid to chat. If you prefer to talk, you can go join the women holing themselves up in their little homes.”

“I-I’m just worried, sir...”

Kitagawa pulled at his arm, and they backtracked into the village. Crammed in a narrow alley between rows of houses, they were far from the guards, but close enough to see their silhouettes against the backdrop of the night.

“We can’t climb the walls,” Ren said, but that had been obvious. “but if we can distract them, it should be enough.”

“Or we could travel through the forest with the shrine.” Kitagawa suggested.

He disagreed. “Neither one of us have a light and we don’t know where its path ends. Instead of traveling towards Yatategi, we could be going in the opposite direction.”

Kitagawa frowned, and Ren was equally confused. “We’re still going north?”

“Where else?”

“Iwakura.”

“Sojiro wanted me to go to Yatategi. That’s what we’re going to do.” Ren dismissed. And yet, unease began to stir from the seed of doubt planted in his stomach.

He had not glimpsed the people outside their door, and something told him Kitagawa knew just as much as he did. They could not have been ordinary people or wandering merchants.

“But what if your family is in danger?” Kitagawa was feeding the seed those strangers had sowed so effortlessly.

“Zenkichi will tell us.” He inwardly flinched at the lie. “He’d find a way.”

Zenkichi worked in the shadows as well, but it was impossible for him to cross from a capital to a city in only an hour – Ren knew that. The quickest way he would know of his family was through letter or word-of-mouth from strangers.

That’s what these guards were. Strangers. They didn’t know of Iwakura’s affairs being so pushed in the north, even if Koya _was_ lying directly below the border’s belt between Iwakura and Yatategi.

They wouldn’t know anything. They couldn’t. They weren’t nobles.

Ren waited for the protest, for Kitagawa to argue with such a selfish decision... but it never came. “Then wait here.”

“They’ll recognize you too—”

“I’m not going to speak with them.”

That was how Ren found himself sandwiched between two buildings and dressed in night’s veil with the cold nipping at his face.

He watched Kitagawa backtrack into the village where they had eaten curry, but he had not yet returned. For as long as he took, Ren was beginning to wonder if Kitagawa was grabbing something to eat, but stored that thought away for it was rather silly and unfitting.

At the gate, the guards had not said more than two words to one another. Sometimes the river outside Koya tumbled loudly over rocks and at the shore, but they didn’t so much as flinch.

_Zenkichi would tell them_ , was what he _wanted_ to believe. Whenever Ren needed someone most, it was Zenkichi who was always there.

Ren was not a fool; he did not doubt there was some divine intervention at play. Futaba had awakened to a creature that enabled her swift travel. Maybe that was how she could juggle so much of her research and free time yet still be in attendance for Sojiro’s lessons.

So how different could Zenkichi’s be?

He knew Zenkichi had one of them as well, but he did not see it. If he reached back by four years, he could recall the basic details of Futaba’s.

It was an _utsuro-bune_ , a large, dark green and black ship shaped like a massive incense burner. Further research told him the ‘utsuro-bune’ was a hollow ship that carried a young woman in its belly before it washed up on shore. Legend said the vessel came from outer space...

...only Futaba was not yet a ‘woman’, and Sojiro never found her at some random beach stuck in the sand. And Futaba wasn’t an alien... maybe.

But would his own interests mold the creature born from his eventual awakening? Or was it more complicated?

The scream that ripped through the dark was followed by a loud crashing noise. His attention was yanked from his thoughts to the town, but he ducked back into the alley when the guards at the gate zipped past him.

(“What the hell was that?”

“Just go!”)

“What did you do?” he demanded when Kitagawa approached.

“I had to sacrifice a yatai for our diversion. It pained me to be so wasteful with food, but...”

(“Demon! It was a demon!”)

Kitagawa hurried them out of the village and onto the long road. “We don’t have much time,” he said, throwing off his bag.

Ren needn’t be told twice.

He was not carrying anything precious, so he cast the bundle into the river with a heavy swing of his arm. When Kitagawa did the same, they ran north, leaving behind the chaos that had bloomed in Koya.

‘ _A yatai, huh_...’ Ren thought, and he was not convinced.

The air was colder, so he chose to focus on the road ahead. Small talk would come eventually.

.

..

“We’ll be back, Ren. Stay here and wait for us.” His mother had said. But then: “If something happens, go to the village we saw. The one with the flowers. There was a shrine there.”

.

..

How naïve he was, the boy who grew up with a double-life.

He was still young and struggled talking with the villagers during the day. But he was taught that each conversation should be guarded. True motives laid in wait behind fake laughter and smiles and welcoming eyes. Humans were not so honest.

It took Ren some time to grow used to that.

So, when the man with black hair and yellow eyes asked him ever-so kindly ‘why was he alone?’, Ren was honest to a fault.

_“_ Tell me your name, and we can find your parents together _.”_

“I know where they are.” Ren had answered, and he tugged futilely when his arm was arm was grabbed. Their fingers had slowly hooked into claws, black and dark green. It stung. “Please let go.”

There was something in the human brain that _knew_ danger. Even if the person never weighed life in one hand and death in the other, it knew. It recognized threats, and everything was screaming in him to flee from this man because something was horribly, horribly wrong.

He did not recognize the object that was raised to his head. A slender wooden and steel barrel with a metallic ‘hook’ that the man thumbed down without looking. Ren had seen those before, saw how they spit fire and killed anyone its ammo touched.

The yellow-eyed man pressed the mouth of the gun against his forehead and uttered his prayers.

.

..

Ren could not remember everything that happened next, but the gun did not pierce through his forehead, that was certain.

Instead, there had been voices and screaming, and the bullet meant for him found its way through his mother.

.

..

Had he screamed when it happened?

Maybe he did, but Ren could scarcely remember beyond blinding shock as his breath sawed in and out of him to where he could barely breathe past the panic.

(Did he see his father before he too was gunned down?)

He escaped the Killer and his small army of men that slipped from the shadows.

More shouting.

Another explosion of gunfire.

The third one.

Someone’s corpse joined his mother’s. Red bloomed from his head and from her chest like a cherry blossom in spring. But it did not smell like cherry blossoms.

He could almost taste the smoke from the barrel.

Amamiya slept fitfully.

Yusuke hadn’t told him (and maybe he never would), but it was Amamiya that woke him up. Though he himself may mumble in his sleep, Amamiya was the one who cried.

It was horrible of him to have done so, but he had watched back when they were in the inn’s room. Through moonlight streaming through the window bouncing off Amamiya’s face, he saw the tears beginning to gather like fresh dew under his eyelids.

What compelled him to wipe away the first tear that slipped down Amamiya’s cheek, he did not know. Perhaps he had felt pity for his lord. Or maybe it was the way Amamiya called out softly in his sleep.

“Mom...”

He wasn’t. Far from it. But the word alone had stung his chest to where he found himself taking another sip of that icy concoction. Two sips for good measure. _Push it down, push it back_... He couldn’t risk anything when there were other people around.

Had the guards not arrived, he would have watched a little more.

But when he heard the first voice asking for one ‘Amamiya Ren’, he knew their time was up.

He had grabbed Amamiya’s shoulder and shook him gently.

This time, he didn’t watch. He kept guard until morning began to break. Yusuke was used to getting maybe four or three hours of sleep before long days that promised travel. Last night had been two thanks to Amamiya, but that wasn’t why he felt so _drained_.

No, that too had been Amamiya’s fault.

Seeing his lord so vulnerable was

( _unnerving_ )

something he never should have seen. If he could rip into his very brain and forcibly remove the memory, he would.

When Amamiya insisted on continuing to Yatategi, he wanted so badly to argue. “ _You call out for your mother in your sleep, but you refuse to return to your father and sister?_ ” he almost spat, but he knew if he did, Amamiya would know.

No one had to tell him Amamiya didn’t _want_ him knowing. Least of all him.

Their meal and bath together softened the distance between them, but there was still an obstacle to overcome. If he opened his mouth, Amamiya would have not hesitated to shut it, and the time they did get to know one another would be washed away.

He heard Amamiya walk over to him. For a while they sat in silence, staring in the direction of where the path lied in wait.

The small campfire that had begun to die overnight cracked quietly behind their backs. It had been risky to draw fire when they were undoubtedly being tailed, but it was more dangerous to sleep with Yatategi winds pressing into their bodies. Yusuke fed the flames what he could, keeping it going for as long as he was awake.

“We’re a day’s travel from Yatategi.” Yusuke said. _And with nothing to replenish our stamina_. Whatever food they may have stuffed had been discarded recklessly into the river. It was cruelly ironic how he remembered to save his medicine but forgot the food.

When Amamiya didn’t answer, he tentatively added. “Are you still tired? You can rest more if you’d like.”

“You need sleep too.” Was all he said.

He did, but, “Not as much as you.”

They fell back into the quiet, listening to the forest as it began to wake up. Birds sung loudly to one another, tree branches snapped their fingers together, and the sun showed no sign of stopping.

“Kitagawa...”

Yusuke looked over.

“I think we should return to Iwakura.”

_Now_ he had his full attention. “You had been so against it last night.”

“I had some thinking to do,” he answered simply. “You were right. I have family back in Iwakura, and if something is happening, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for not being there. And if I’m wrong, the worst I can get is another earful from Sojiro.”

“You wouldn’t have to endure the brunt of his ire alone,” Yusuke offered gently. “I may have been partially responsible for your change in decision.”

Amamiya smirked, but it was friendly. Tired, too. “Only ‘partially’?”

If there was a jest, it was going over Yusuke’s head. “...Fully responsible, then?”

“There you go.” Amamiya chuckled lightly. “We should leave now. Neither one of us know Yatategi, but if we can find a way around Koya, we’re taking that road. Let’s hold off on inns until we reach Iwakura territory.”

It was Yusuke’s stomach that growled before he could speak. _Again?_ “Sorry...”

Amamiya shook his head. “Alright then. _One_ village. Leave breakfast to me.”

“You know how to hunt?”

The glint in Amamiya’s eye begged to differ. With a mischievous grin Yusuke had never see on his lord’s face before, Amamiya replied, “Something like that.”

Though he traveled around Yatategi with Konoe, Yusuke could not name or locate each village that hid among the trees. And though it took them a while, they eventually found one on their route back to Iwakura.

He could hardly call it a village for it was more of a camping ground with four or five shacks in a haphazard circle. He was sure it didn’t even have a name let alone  _ existed _ on the maps pinned to a tactician’s table.

But what startled him of this spectacle was Amamiya.

Ever obedient, Yusuke stood on watch. His attention followed Amamiya as he approached. The cooked fish was  _ asking  _ to be stolen, sitting so deliciously on the racks lined against the wall of one of the buildings while its smell twisted in the freezing air.

If not waiting to be stolen by man, then by wildlife. But he would expect them to be swiped by a common thief or a hungry bird...

...not by a lord.

Amamiya did not steal like a noble, for nobles were never taught to steal.

It was with practiced deftness that Amamiya swiped the food for himself. He went from one rack to the other, looking at them as if he were a shopper in Akiyama’s open market. He never snagged the food directly.

Instead, he was always in motion. He would pretend something on another shelf caught his eye but discreetly pluck what he wanted from the first rack, slipping them up his sleeves or, in the case of larger food, sliding them in the crevice of his top.

No.

Amamiya stole like a  _ thief _ .

Yusuke recognized the pattern. If they were in a public market, he had no doubt Amamiya would make small talk with the merchant to distract them.

He was almost grateful no one was there to defend their belongings.

“Didn’t you say you wanted grilled fish?” Amamiya said once they abandoned the site.

“I wasn’t expecting you to steal it.” Yusuke grumbled, but his stomach could bear emptiness no longer. The fish was cold and unseasoned, and hard on his tongue. He almost dug into it shamelessly before remembering his lord was right there.

“Does that bother you?”

_ Yes _ , is what he wanted to say, but Yusuke paused his eating. Amamiya ate quietly at the rice ball he picked from one of the baskets. There was not a trace of guilt or shame on his face, and Yusuke realized  _ No,  _ it did  _ not  _ bother him as much as he thought. He was  _ startled _ , not disturbed.

Amamiya’s patience seemed to draw thinner. “If it pleases you to know, I left silver as payment for our modest banquet.”

Yusuke frowned. “You’re still the same to me. I am only seeing a side to you I didn’t know existed. Humans have different parts to them, after all, and I simply bore witness to one of yours.”

And it was true.

The entire time he was stealing, Yusuke caught that same glint in his eyes – that mischievousness. Sometimes he saw it on the faces of inexperienced thieves before he had to step forward and apprehend them. But the alertness and almost  _ smug  _ smirk that whispered on Amamiya’s lips had been different.

It had been cocky for a reason. It was not like the amateur thieves who smiled like utter buffoons at the simple idea of doing something unfavorable.

Amamiya had done this before, and he knew how to get what he wanted...

...and that was charming on its own.

Yusuke wasn’t sure what was worse: Amamiya’s potential thieving history, or the fact he had been momentarily enraptured with it.

Konoe’s training and lectures on  _ bushido  _ seemed to demand what the  _ hell  _ was wrong with him for daring to  _ think  _ he could find  _ thievery _ (of all things!) alluring, but... Denying the feeling that welled up inside him felt more of a dishonor than pretending they had not existed. As brief as they had been.

But all Yusuke knew of Amamiya was one of the many masks he wore. When they talked, Amamiya held himself back. When they were under the eyes of their peers, he was formal and polite.

Today, he glimpsed a part of the  _ real  _ Amamiya Ren.

He didn’t want to let it go or share it with anyone, and was immediately dumbstruck at his own spark of selfishness.

(‘ _ He is your  _ lord _. Not your friend _ .  _ He will never  _ be  _ your friend. _ ’

Yusuke wasn’t sure why those words hurt so much.)

“I see...” Amamiya mumbled, but Yusuke could not detect the previous annoyance in his voice.

As they ate in silence, his mind kept snapping back to the camp site. A part of him was guilty for stealing, but the other part was too busy replaying Amamiya’s movement. Such grace, a quiet that had muffled his every step as he moved from one spot to another in the same way a butterfly would dance from flower to flower. Amamiya had been the very definition of a phantom.

Beauty and art lied in everything. Maybe it was wrong for his old muse to stir at the sight of his lord  _ stealing _ , but stir it did, and for the first time in a long time, Yusuke’s hand ached for the brush rather the sword.

How much more blood would he have to see spilled before he could create another painting?

“Kitagawa...”

And Yusuke started when the white lump of manju was practically shoved under his nose. His mouth watered at the sight of it, and the sweetness of the confection overwhelmed the dry fish aftertaste that clung to his tongue like a stubborn film. He normally turned away at sweets, but when he was hungry, anything tasted good.

“Thank you.” He said. “To think they had an arsenal of sweets as well.”

Amamiya hesitated, going quiet. “They didn’t.” he swallowed.

Yusuke recalled how Amamiya left behind most of the fish and rice, stealing as little as they needed, but to clean out the sweets...

Amusement flickered inside him, and he could scarcely fight his own smile. “And how much did you leave for those poor campers?”

“There were only three manju.” Amamiya said quickly. “No one will notice.”

“I’m sure they would if one of them happened to be a sweets beast like yourself.”

“I added in one gold for the dessert...”

“A generous trade.”

“...which is enough to buy them a supply of rice and bean paste that’ll last long after our second trip to Yatategi.”

“Be careful, Amamiya. I hear sweets-thievery is a serious crime in the north. The punishment is daikon fukumeni, three meals a day for a month.” Yusuke said teasingly, and he couldn’t stop the laugh when Amamiya elbowed him playfully.

Amamiya’s own laugh was soft and warm like the sound of a  _ furin  _ in a gentle breeze. It was nice,  _ human _ , and very different than the part of Amamiya that thrashed in his sleep. If he could rid the ugliness that wrapped Amamiya in its web and swap it for  _ this  _ (more laughter, more smiles), he would do so without hesitation.

“Hey...” (he froze.) “Don’t tell Sojiro or Futaba about what I did.”

Had it not been for the light-heartedness that left Amamiya’s face, Yusuke would’ve thought he was referring to the manju.

But he knew.

Thievery was still thievery no matter the intention behind it, and a noble title could not protect his lord from the consequences. “It will be a secret I carry to my grave.”

Amamiya’s smile was tiny, but grateful.

“Thank you, Kitagawa.”


	7. Chapter 7

He estimated a day’s travel from the Iwakura capital.

Miure village was one long street that rode next to the mountains. Unlike Koya, its houses did not ascend the mountain’s slope, and each building was two-tiered. They stood firmly, like sentinels lined before their commander. A sign greeted people at the entrance. It was safe to say Miure was one of those rare villages in Iwakura’s territory that housed higher classes.

On his own, he would not be able to afford a room. Tonight was different. He would force himself to enjoy that luxury no matter how short it lasted.

But _this_ could hardly be counted as a pleasantry.

Konoe, Yusuke discovered, was aggressive. Each stroke of steel was as fast as a viper and landed as hard as a hammer.

His own sword-arm was steadier now and no longer tremored when their blades collided.

Holding the katana in a reverse grip, he brought it up in a wide slash before it caught against Konoe’s once more. He swung sharply with his left arm, bringing the sheath with him and loosening their parry.

Though it hit its mark, Yusuke could only relish in that flash of surprise for not even a second when Konoe countered.

With his wrists crossed, it made it easier for Konoe to drag him forward. The butt of Konoe’s katana came down on his skull.

An overwhelming coppery taste surged into his mouth when his teeth clamped down on his lip. Briefly, Yusuke thought he must have blacked out. Stars danced in and out of his vision and when his senses returned to him, his cheek was pressed against the dirt with his katana lying nearby.

“Sorry, Kitagawa,” Konoe said, but he didn’t sound sorry at all. He stuck out a hand to help him up anyway. “Western technique. I shouldn’t have used it on you.”

A western technique with a _katana_... The brunt of the hilt would have been worse if Konoe struck him with a pommel, but that logic hardly alleviated Yusuke’s anger.

“We were training.” he managed to grit out, swallowing and grimacing at the taste of his own blood. His fingers came away red and he shut his eyes against a wave of pain that tapped his undoubtedly bruised skull.

Konoe drew him to his feet. “Dueling,” he corrected. “You never use real weapons in training.”

Yusuke pulled free of Konoe’s grip. He needed to steady himself, but he’d be damned if he was going to hold his former mentor’s hand a moment longer. “Then we are always _dueling_.”

The last time Konoe had used bokken was when Yusuke was first learning the basics. Those were cast away the minute he began climbing the ranks. It did not take long for Yusuke to dread those ‘training sessions’.

“Don’t be that way. It’s been a long time, so I thought why not test out your abilities? Yamaguchi has not let your skills go to waste.”

“Wouldn’t it have been better to fight him instead?”

Konoe did not answer immediately, sheathing his blade quietly before facing Miure looming in the distance. “And what would I learn from that? I have never lost to Yamaguchi.”

His brain pounded in agony; he needed to sit.

As if reading his discomfort, Konoe sighed. “That stump over there. Take a seat.”

“Did you think you could lose to me?” Yusuke said, shifting uncomfortably in his newfound ‘chair’.

“Yes.” Konoe said honestly.

Yusuke fell silent. It was not the answer he had been expecting.

“I didn’t though. To say I’m not disappointed would be a lie, but you’ve grown stronger. I can’t ignore that.” He swiped Yusuke’s katana from the ground, sheathing it quietly. “Using your sheath... Never saw it coming.”

“I could say the same to your skull-bashing.” Yusuke retorted bitterly. He glared when Konoe laughed. “I’m glad one of us finds this amusing.”

“Consider it an honor, Kitagawa. All of it.”

“Enough with these empty compliments,” he snapped, patience sanded down to a thin line. “You’ve succeeded in turning my life upside down. I’ve been dragged all across Riiben following along with your troupe of samurai, and yet you continue to ridicule me. If you do not give me an answer today, I will turn my back on everything you’ve built.”

“And go where?” Konoe snarled. The anger that flared to life in his eyes was one Yusuke had never seen before. He could feel it singe the edges of his own confidence. “To Yatategi? Are you going to go crawling back to the capital’s daimyo? Beg for a master? You are an ungrateful brat... If it weren’t for me or your friend, you wouldn’t even be alive.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I never asked for your assistance!” Yusuke fired back with renewed vigor. Against the dizziness that threatened to drag him back down, he stood. “You barge into my life and molded it to fit _your_ goal and I have every right to believe the same thing happened with Natsume. To you, we’ve been nothing but pawns. Listen well, Konoe Akira, because I will not ask again...”

Konoe remained unflinching.

“What was your motive from the start?”

Their very surroundings seemed to listen too, curiosity seeping into the air as they too held their breaths.

“Justice.”

...Yusuke blinked. “Justice?”

“To see you still alive disgusts me.” Konoe said coolly. “You may have eluded all the consequences of your past, but I have never forgotten. If it weren’t for them, you would have faced judgement a long time ago and been locked behind bars like you deserve.”

 _Them? Who were ‘them’?_ “How much do you know about me, Konoe?”

“More than you think. And you needn’t blame your little writer friend either. Natsume Ango and I both agreed the country is run by a slow-witted idiot. Crime breaks out every day in all four states and yet no action is taken. The daimyo are useless which means the shogun is just as impractical. Yatategi’s is a selfish, power-hungry lout and Iwakura rules with a weak fist. There is no balance.

“But I refuse to see this country go up in flames. If it means serving the people I’ve come to loathe, then I will do so until it is time.” His face darkened in slow-mounting resentment. “Seeing people go unpunished when they have wronged others... it’s _sickening_. If the shogun cannot deliver justice, then I will do it myself.”

Yusuke suddenly wished he had his katana back; Konoe still held it in a paling fist. “Then your recruiting me...”

“...was a mix of things. If Yatategi wouldn’t punish you, then someone had to. If it meant using your friend to deliver that, I would have gone to the ends of the earth. I recruited you because it’d be a waste to let such talent die. What better way to atone for your crimes than through a life of servitude?”

“ _You_ are the child here,” Yusuke spat. His heart growled in his chest and he was dimly aware of how much he needed his medicine in that moment. “Running around as a self-proclaimed paragon of justice because you disagree with Riiben’s shogun.”

“Call me what you want, but you were the one tricked into wasting four years training under the bushido code. You still don’t have a master and the minute I leave, you will live your life as an unwanted _ronin_.”

There was a sudden pang in his chest, and he grasped the front of his shirt. “You think I’ve played right into your trap...”

Konoe frowned. “What?”

It was _hysterical._

All of it

was horribly ironic.

Laughter began to bubble low in his throat, mounting upwards until it spilled past his lips in low chuckles. If he could laugh more, he would. He would do it until Konoe’s face turned red with that anger he hid _so well_ for the years Yusuke had known him.

“You’re correct. I have dedicated my recent years to the sword and there is no going back to my life as an artist. And I cannot forgive myself for what has happened either.” He met Konoe’s unflinching gaze. “Whether I want to admit it or not, you have helped me. And as a thank you, I will use everything you taught me and stop you from conquering that goal.”

And, with a boldness he didn’t know he had, Yusuke all but yanked his katana from Konoe’s grasp. “You are not the only one who loves their home. You claim Natsume abandoned it, but the road you are heading will burn this country to the ground much quicker than anything else.”

“You’d stand in my way?”

Konoe did not laugh this time. If Yusuke had looked harder then, he would have seen the faintest hint of unease crease his face.

“I will do more than that. I still hold myself to that promise I made back in Ikuta. In the village we first met.”

Immediately, Konoe’s eyes seemed to lose focus, wandering and searching for whatever ‘promise’ that could have been said. It was not so easy to think back four years on the spot, Yusuke liked to think.

But find it he did, for Konoe’s gaze hardened. “I would like to see that.”

“You will.” Yusuke said quietly.

He pushed past him with no intention of looking back. It would be rude to let the luxury of a high-class inn go to waste. When the night would be over, he’d continue to Iwakura.

As he was leaving, Konoe called out to him.

Yusuke halted but didn’t look back.

“You’re still going then? To Daimyo Sakura?”

“It is my sensei’s last wish.” Yusuke said almost mockingly.

Konoe scoffed. “They will find out too. And when it happens, you’ll be alone once more. Daimyo do not appreciate liars.” He paused. “But you’re not denying it never happened, are you? You’re just running away from it.”

His heart began its erratic palpitating again, and Yusuke could not hold back his anger. “It was _never_ your place to judge me!” he scowled only to wince when doing so irritated his split lip.

“You didn’t say ‘no’.”

...It was growing colder. Too cold for his liking. Yusuke suppressed a chill that raced up his spine.

“The next time we meet, Kitagawa Yusuke, it will be as enemies.” Konoe said slowly. “Be grateful that Daimyo Sakura is taking you in, but they will learn one day too.”

“You will stay out of this—”

“I won’t have to lift a finger.” Konoe was sure. “You will do it yourself.”

Yusuke turned, then paused to root through his pocket. There was one last thing.

He flung the hanafuda card in Konoe’s direction where it landed softly on the ground. “I have no need for this.”

“Ah, I suppose I forgot to teach you,” Konoe said dryly as he plucked it.

Yusuke scoffed. “You and I both know these were not regular cards.”

“Oh?” Konoe’s eyebrow quirked in amusement. “Have you figured something out?”

The truth was he had not. He held onto the card ever since they left Ikuta, but he had almost forgotten about it. And he knew there would be no straight answer.

So he continued onward, ignoring Konoe’s gaze that pierced into his back.

When he at last returned to his room later that evening, there was a vial with clear liquid waiting for him on the futon with a small note.

‘ _A parting gift for my most diligent student. Bought from one girl with the butterfly in her hair._

_\- Konoe Akira’_

Was it some cruel twist of irony that brought him back to Miure a half-year later? Or was it predetermined fate?

They needed to rest. One 3-day trip from the north back to the south with an occasional 2-3-hour break in between had been reckless. His feet were aching from it and he could only assume how much Amamiya was hurting. He was tired and long had he wished they had taken one of Iwakura’s steeds.

(But what would they have done when they had to flee Koya?)

Higher class would often look down upon frugal citizens with a disdainful eye. And though Yusuke was not of a lower class, he wasn’t exactly rolling in riches either. Even his title as Amamiya’s personal guard was not enough to brush off their suspicion.

“Should we rest inside?” Yusuke offered when Amamiya’s head drooped from fatigue.

“We don’t have time.”

“It would be less reckless though.” He was used to long travel and could probably go the extra mile. Amamiya... well, he wasn’t too sure himself. “You’ve hardly slept.”

When Amamiya didn’t answer, Yusuke dreaded they had fallen back into their usual spiel of on-off conversation. But when he looked, Amamiya was staring off at two dark-haired men across the street. They were outside the inn, watching each person who entered. He had no doubts they were looking for something... or some _one_.

“Kitagawa.”

“I know.”

“We’ve overstayed our welcome.” Amamiya rose from his seat. “Keep your sword ready.”

The land outside Miure was mostly flat with rolling plains of tall grass that danced in the gentlest of breezes. Here and there were large slabs of rock that appeared to have grown from the earth itself.

Dirt and gravel crunched underfoot, and he realized there was little room for anyone to take cover unless they preferred to crawl through the fields.

If they wanted to ambush him, he would be able to see them from miles away.

Ren thought, with dry amusement, that there must have been _quite_ the bounty on his head.

They were clad in court dress: a hakama and kataginu, and Ren did not miss the swords strapped at their waists. Samurai, but there was no insignia sewed into their clothing that told him from whence they came.

Kitagawa’s hand never left his sheath, thumb poised under its tsuba.

“You’re far from the capital.” Ren said in regards to their dress. They were a good distance from Miure now. If a fight were to break out, he had no doubt the guards may hear it. But it was better than confronting these men inside the city where a child could get hurt.

_If only someone had paid him the same courtesy 8 years ago._

“Amamiya Ren,” said the one on his left. “You’ve been found guilty of lying to Iwakura and suspicious activity. We’re here to bring you home where the daimyo will decide what to do with you next.”

Kitagawa intercepted. “There is no need. I will make sure no harm befalls him.”

“What you were doing was _not_ sankin kotai,” the other chimed in, ignoring Kitagawa. “I’m afraid there will be questions for Iwakura’s daimyo as well.”

When they approached, he gave a small shake of his sleeve. He felt the knife’s smooth hilt slide into his palm. Beside him, he glimpsed Kitagawa raise his hand just so, close enough to his weapon.

At first, he wasn’t worried. Kitagawa was quick, and he could be swift too.

He froze.

“Is there something wrong, Amamiya Ren?” the first samurai’s yellow eyes winked in mock concern.

Both.

Both of their irises were like molten gold.

( _The gun’s muzzle had been cold against his forehead._ )

“ _Get back_!!”

The breath was punched out of him when Kitagawa shoved his chest. Ren landed, winded, and the knife bounced out of his hand.

He looked up just in time to see the sky bleach gray and as the willowy trees and dark grass of Ne no Kuni burst into existence.

Energy shook the air around them, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect. An explosion of black and red erupted at Kitagawa’s feet and he was thrown back with a startled shout.

“Kitagawa!”

Supporting himself on his katana, Yusuke threw his arm out. “Shadows! They’re dangerous!”

But these weren’t regular Shadows that prowled Ne no Kuni’s land. With a slow dawning horror, he realized they were Shadows of _people_.

Their bodies were humanoid, but their faces were white as chalk. Cracks fissured from their forehead to their eyes, from their jaws to their lips. When one drew his sword, he did so with clawed, black and dark green hands. The blade was not smooth like a katana. It was sharp and had jagged teeth that belonged on a nokogiri.

One of the saw-like blades crashed against Kitagawa’s sword. It pulled back and brought its arm down, _hammering_ more than it was slashing.

Kitagawa kept it at bay, alternating between ducking and parrying, but Ren saw how the weight behind each strike shook his legs.

And the second Shadow wielded a dagger half the length of Ren’s forearm with an edge as sharp as a machete.

It swung its arm, the appendage stretching like rubber and Ren narrowly avoided a wide swipe. He dove for his knife, tearing it from its holster.

The Shadow started forward and Ren blocked its forearm with his own. He briefly felt the hardened skin of the Shadow’s dark green flesh before it tore itself back. It raised both arms over its head, knife in both hands, before thrusting down violently.

He crossed his wrists in a block, grunting in discomfort when it landed hard against them, its knife’s tip scarcely touching his head.

Ren quickly grabbed its forearm, bringing it lower before he pincered his other arm around the Shadow’s. He twisted it until the side of the Shadow’s face was at eye-level.

The chipped face splintered against the bare knuckles of his left fist, and he grabbed his knife from the hand that kept the Shadow immobilized. The blade glided through its neck.

Ren hooked his leg around the Shadow’s before drawing himself back against it and dragging them both to the ground.

Steel to its throat, its arm still locked and useless, Ren tried not to think of how there was no blood. A dark fissure was left where it should have been slit, but there was no red smile grinning in its neck.

“Who are you?” he demanded, glaring into its yellow eyes.

( _So much like the man in Minochi_ —)

At first, it didn’t answer, and all he could hear was Kitagawa dueling the other Shadow. He began to look over his shoulder when the graveled voice gurgled past its lips. “We will deliver justice for Riiben.”

Its free arm sprung to life.

Ren withdrew the knife from the Shadow’s throat. Its fist crashed into the blade, but it didn’t stop, uncurling its fingers and wrenching the knife from his grasp. He choked when its clawed hand found its way around his neck.

The world flipped as he was thrown off the Shadows body, a pained cry exploding out of him when he landed. It pinned him by his throat, looming over with its face pressed close. “Do you know what happened in Iwakura?”

If he wanted to respond, he couldn’t. Not with the Shadow crushing his windpipe. But he wanted to. He wanted to demand what it knew. He wanted it to hear his threat, that if something happened to Sojiro or Futaba, he would personally kill this Shadow himself.

“Poor Amamiya... If you could use magic, maybe you could’ve stopped us.”

And in that moment, he wished he _could_ use magic. He wished it more than he ever had when he was kneeling at a shrine dressed in ceremonial garb. If he could, he’d smother this monster to ash until the earth would have no choice but to take it back.

When the dark chain with blue fire constricted around the Shadow, he thought Philemon answered his prayer. But when it was thrown off him and dribbled into the ground with a ferocity that spat chunks of earth with each collision, he knew the power was not his.

The large humanoid creature with a caged helmet and torso swung its fists, dragging the Shadow as if it were a ragdoll. The creature was blue and silver, chains extending from the cages around its hands and Teretian-inspired coattails snapping wildly in the wind.

“Forgotten your training, have you?” Zenkichi helped him to his feet. There was a Teretian broadsword strapped to his back, but Ren wasn’t given the time to question him about it. When Zenkichi faced the creature, his voice was like gunfire. “Valjean!”

And the caged being whipped its chains. The Shadow flailed and clawed at the air as it fell.

Ren could only watch in dumb shock as two revolvers manifested in Zenkichi’s hands. One spat its bullet through the Shadow’s head and the other surged to the Shadow that Kitagawa had been dueling. Both exploded in black dust.

“How...” _did you get here_? is what he almost asked, but Zenkichi had rounded on Yusuke, who appeared equally as alarmed.

“What were you doing, Kitagawa?” he demanded, voice quiet by sharp.

“I’m... sorry. There were two of them—”

“Which you could have handled if you weren’t holding yourself back.” Valjean watched the scene quietly, cyan fire and royal-blue chains spiraling around its feet. Zenkichi had yet to dismiss it. Ren wasn’t sure what it was thinking – if it _could_ think.

Unnerve pooled in his gut at the scene unfolding before him. He grabbed Zenkichi’s sleeve, a habit he thought he’d grown out of since he was 9. “Those Shadows weren’t normal. Don’t blame him.”

“I could see that,” he retorted. But he said no more, giving Kitagawa one last disapproving look before turning away.

Kitagawa averted his gaze, pained, but he said nothing.

Ren was beyond confused. “What’re you saying?”

“Leave it for now.” Zenkichi said shortly. “We’re taking you both to a village in Minochi. Futaba is staying there with your friends until we can figure out our next move.”

“What do you mean?” Kitagawa asked over Ren’s growing worry. “Why isn’t she with daimyo Sakura?”

He hesitated. “A day after you left, a group of people arrived in Iwakura looking for you. They took Natsume and Ohara but when they asked for you, Sojiro didn’t answer. Futaba must’ve known they were coming, so your father had her delivered to Minochi.” Zenkichi bowed his head in apology. “I’m sorry, Amamiya. I traveled through Ne no Kuni to Yatategi to collect more intel on Natsume. I overheard villagers talking about Iwakura, but when I arrived in the palace, I was too late.”

“Sojiro- he’s...” Ren didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to plant the possibility of it in his mind. But dread was beginning to weigh in his stomach like a stone.

Zenkichi gave a swift shake of his head. “No. No, not...”

 _yet_. It couldn’t be said aloud.

“Listen, Amamiya: The group that raided Iwakura not only knew about Ne no Kuni, but had access to it as well. These people were able to open a portal at the shrine. What we need to remember is Ne no Kuni is connected. It may look like a bunch of trees and thick fog to you, but the forest’s roots stretch into all four lands. If someone can navigate through it, then they’re more than capable of using Ne no Kuni against the country.

“Daimyo Sakura was forced into that portal. I couldn’t tell you where he is now. What we can hope is for his soul to have fallen asleep when he fell in.”

Kitagawa had stepped closer and Ren welcomed the small comfort it provided. Their arms did not touch. “Could he still be at Iwakura’s Ne no Kuni?”

“It’s a possibility.” Zenkichi sighed tiredly. “I’d have to physically go there myself to see. Until then, the daimyo will have to hold out. I’m not religious, but I have enough faith Philemon wouldn’t leave one of His people defenseless—”

“Philemon doesn’t care.” Ren cut in bitterly. He could feel Kitagawa and Zenkichi’s astonished gazes on him.

But let them stare.

They were not devotees and they were not going to pray for his soul for daring to speak negatively about divine beings. “We should find Sojiro as soon as we can.”

“Amamiya...” Kitagawa muttered.

“Leave Sojiro to me.” Zenkichi said. “With Valjean, I’ll be able to find him quicker by myself.”

Ren stood his ground. “Before we were ambushed by those Shadows, we were on our way back to Iwakura. If you want to continue looking through Ne no Kuni, then Kitagawa and I will return home.”

Zenkichi did not seem to agree. “And do what? Those people won’t cooperate with you. By crawling into their lap, you’re giving them what they wanted from the start. You would be spitting on Sojiro’s sacrifice.”

“I can’t leave Iwakura run by some thugs. What about the people?”

“Amamiya, you can’t go back. Not yet. We’ll make our next step after we regroup with everyone else in Minochi. The enemy doesn’t know we can use magic.”

“ _You_ can use magic.” Ren snapped harshly, and he thought he glimpsed Valjean boring down on him with its yellow eyes. “Futaba, Ann, Ryuji... I can’t. And if your plan needs magic users, then I’m nothing more than a liability. But if they have me, they won’t expect an ambush.”

It was not Zenkichi who answered.

“You intend to use yourself as a decoy?” Kitagawa frowned at him. “What good will that accomplish if they decide to use you as a bargaining chip?”

“I’m not going to sit around while everyone else puts their lives at risk.” Ren countered. He knew he was being unreasonable, but it felt better than staying quiet.

“I agree with Kitagawa. They wouldn’t have asked for you without a good reason, and they would be expecting us to retaliate. You may not see it, Amamiya, but you have connections across the four prefectures. We’ll talk about this later; we’ve wasted enough time.” Zenkichi began walking towards one of the ash piles, waving them over. “Look at this.”

Black particles of dust lay atop the dirt road. When neither Kitagawa nor Zenkichi moved, Ren knelt closer, fingers brushing at ash. Buried underneath was a card with a painted swallow and willow tree, miraculously undamaged from the fight. Its paper was thicker than he anticipated. Carefully, he turned it over.

“A hanafuda card...” Kitagawa said abruptly.

“They were outlawed in Riiben years ago for being too much like Teretian card games. Riiben did that to eliminate any Teretian influence left on the country,” Zenkichi explained. “What do you know, Kitagawa?”

He was hesitant, and Ren had grown accustomed to seeing just how quickly Kitagawa grew reluctant when presented with difficult discussion. There would be no eye contact when he would at last find his voice.

“When I was enlisted by Konoe, he gave me a card as well. Furthermore, he never told me of its capabilities.” he held out his hand to Ren. Kitagawa turned it over as well. “Mine was different, but I know it was part of the same set as this one.”

And then, pinching the card between his thumbs and forefingers, he ripped it partway down the middle.

The paper crinkled in protest as Kitagawa pried it apart. It was not a single card as Ren had initially thought, but _two_. On the blank paper were two lines of black text.

“I ask the dweller between the conscious and unconscious,” Kitagawa read. “to grant me permission to the world unknown to man.”

(His parents knelt before Philemon’s statue. “If I am worthy of your divine blessing, I will repay my life through eternal servitude. If I am not, then may my knowledge of our meeting be wiped clean.”)

“Those words won’t work for anyone...” Zenkichi mumbled, bringing a hand to his chin thoughtfully. “But if someone’s been given those cards, they can go into Ne no Kuni... maybe. Do you still have yours?”

Kitagawa shook his head. “Konoe and I had a falling out. I returned it to him.”

“I see.”

Zenkichi was disappointed. Ren spoke to break the growing tension. “Should we keep it?”

“We could,” Zenkichi said, taking the card pieces when Kitagawa held them out. “but there are safer ways to enter into Ne no Kuni. This method is taboo. It shouldn’t even exist.”

Kitagawa narrowed his eyes. “Then why bother holding on to them? Is there someone you know who can’t enter by themselves?”

“You can’t.” Zenkichi answered simply.

The trees of Ne no Kuni arched ahead, a fair distance away from where Miure stood in the real world. Miure itself had been replaced by an altar, a modest stone path bracketed by lanterns stretched before it. The shrine of a normal town was different from the ones in the capital in size alone. To him, the weather hadn’t changed even though Kitagawa claimed it had when they were in Koya. But Ren could not shake the creeping chill that was beginning to settle in his bones.

He peered into the abysmal woods. His mind created faux scenarios of Sojiro wandering aimlessly, being ambushed by Shadows with no means of defending himself.

“Walking _is_ better than standing around.” Zenkichi’s voice sounded behind him.

Ren looked back, unaware he had strayed from both Zenkichi and Kitagawa’s side. “I want to look for Sojiro, but I know you won’t let me.” He replied dourly.

“Right you are, Amamiya,” and Zenkichi clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Leave this to me. I’ll bring you and Kitagawa to the closest shrine in Minochi.”

Valjean was devoured by blue and white flames, but it did not scream. Instead, it disappeared into particles of light that fled to Zenkichi’s face. They merged around his eyes, laying atop his face, and Ren blinked as they dissolved into a black, pinpoint blindfold. White triangles were placed upside down over where his eyes should have been.

Ren stared.

Zenkichi stared back.

“What?” he said.

“Can you see?” Ren finally asked.

Zenkichi seemed to frown beneath the mask. “Of course I can.”

“But it’s sitting on your face.”

“ _It_ is called a ‘Persona’… and it’s not ‘sitting on my face’. Though,” he brought a hand to the fabric. “maybe it is…”

A Persona…

The word was familiar, yet foreign at the same time. For the longest time, he had dubbed them Shadows. His parents never told him what it was called. It was always ‘Awaken to your true self’… to his ‘power’. But after seeing Valjean, a Persona, fight off malevolent Shadows, he knew bestowing the title ‘Shadow’ was an insult.

Shadows were reckless and brash.

Personas were calculated and in-sync with their owner.

One mind.

Ren thought back to the times Futaba would have her Persona summoned, how he never saw it manifest as a mask like Zenkichi’s. He’d always catch the tail-end of her visions, and when she first awoke to her Persona, he couldn’t recall her dismissing it before his eyes. Instead, he would force himself to leave before she could do so, preferring to roil in lonesome jealousy.

“Why a mask?” he asked when they began trekking through the woods. The ground was damp, wet leaves clinging stubbornly to equally wet dirt. As it always was, there was no blue sky to watch over them or the sun’s rays to split through the trees.

“I couldn’t tell you,” Zenkichi answered honestly, pausing to help them over a tangle of roots. “But maybe that little bakeneko friend of yours knows something.”

He hadn’t seen Morgana since that day in Iwakura. “He’s a nekomata, not a bakeneko.”

“Right… I get them confused.”

Ren looked back to Kitagawa, who had been impressively quiet for the duration of their walk. “Were you hurt in the fight?”

Kitagawa started. “A few scrapes, but nothing of concern.”

He recalled the way the first Shadow blasted the ground at Kitagawa’s feet, throwing him off balance. When he’d fought the second Shadow, he hadn’t been _thinking_ of Kitagawa. With the adrenaline long departed from his veins, he allowed himself to feel overdue guilt.

Kitagawa was his retainer, but a daimyo held as much responsibility for their warrior’s safety.

“Had Konoe given hanafuda cards to other samurai?”

“It would not surprise me…” he murmured. “I can think of one other person who received a card, but he never joined Konoe’s ranks.”

They followed after Zenkichi in a steadily growing uncomfortable silence. It was not so different from the multiple times before. Kitagawa was hiding something, and Ren hadn’t missed the way he’d fallen silent under Zenkichi’s reprimand. He tried not to think about the hanafuda cards and the Shadows. But they stirred unease in him, and he could not put it from his mind.

“Try to forget about earlier,” Ren said. “about Zenkichi. Those Shadows were unnaturally powerful and now we know why.”

Except they didn’t.

“No, he’s right.” Kitagawa replied softly. When he stopped, Ren paused as well. “Amamiya, you have my deepest apologies for whatever happens.”

“What do you mean?”

(The noble with the knife in his chest flashed through his mind and left as soon as it came.)

(But Kitagawa wouldn’t do that. Not after they were beginning to understand each other.)

“First and foremost, I am your retainer, not your friend. I don’t want either one of us to forget that there are always boundaries between a daimyo and his samurai. If I have acted out of line since we left Koya, then I owe you an apology.”

He didn’t understand. Kitagawa was leaving him with as much confusion as the cards in the ashes.

There was truth to Kitagawa’s words though. They were of different status, even if he was not a true daimyo

(or maybe he was, if Sakura Sojiro died after being thrown into Ne no Kuni)

but he couldn’t so easily replace the ease he felt when they were in Koya. Or when they left and he robbed that small campsite. They shared meals together and through it, Kitagawa had teased him. In that moment, Kitagawa was not a samurai, but a person.

Swallowing hard, he said, “If you have something to say, then say it.”

“We can’t forget our places.” Kitagawa replied sternly. “You must treat me as someone expendable and not be discouraged if I were to die. If I am not with you when you continue your sankin kotai in Minochi’s capital, then you should entrust your life to Zenkichi.”

“Stop.” He snapped. “Not all daimyo see their warriors as replaceable pawns in a game. We’re to continue to Minochi, together, and I’ll order you silence on this matter as well.”

Ren didn’t want Zenkichi as his personal guard. His whole life revolved around people protecting him; Zenkichi had been at it the longest. To place that burden on him again would be unbearable.

_‘Every time he’s with me, it’s one less moment from Akane.’_

“Hey, you two.” Zenkichi’s voice drifted over to them in a hushed whisper. He was crouched behind a tangle of bushes, and if Ren listened her enough, he could hear the babbling of a stream.

Ren had been too busy listening to Kitagawa he’d tuned out the rest of their surroundings.

“Come here. Look, but be quiet.”

Glancing to Kitagawa, he hurried over. Peering through the screen of branches, he saw it.

A wooden gate standing before a long strip of ascending stone steps, and at the top was a small hokora with a butterfly mask stuck at its center.

At the foot of the steps were the Shadows. Huge, black bodies and expressionless white masks. A part of him was relieved they weren’t the same Shadows as the guards in Miure, but he needn’t be told they were powerful beings.

“Only two.”

“There wouldn’t be so few if they weren’t powerful…” Zenkichi added. “Shadows don’t herd like this and they don’t guard shrines.” He looked to Ren. “Could someone be controlling them?”

Ren knew why the question had been asked. “I can’t control a Shadow unless we’re in the same vicinity. I imagine it would be the same for any other wild card.”

Zenkichi averted his gaze back to the Shadows. “It may not be a wild card we’re dealing with…”

“You can control Shadows?” Kitagawa’s voice jolted him.

“They don’t always listen to what I have to say.” Ren said, and he was reminded of how little he told Kitagawa – told _anyone_ – about his limited abilities. “I can use some of their magic as long as the Shadow doesn’t grow bored with me.”

And it was always the weaker Shadows. Something as powerful as the one in Akiyama would never think of talking to a lowly human.

“That shrine will take us to Minochi, but I’ll have to direct us. If you were to touch it, Amamiya, there’s no telling where we could end up,” Zenkichi backpedaled. “No offense meant.”

Ren ignored the last comment. “How do we get there?”

“Leave them to me, but don’t forget your knife training.” he looked to Kitagawa. “You guard him to the top in case one gets by.”

White and blue flames licked the edges of Zenkichi’s mask, and Ren stared in awe as Zenkichi brought a hand to his face. He did not withdraw his hand in pain nor did he exclaim discomfort. The chains were next, royal blue and swirling from the shadows of his feet. Valjean’s silhouette manifested behind him, yellow eyes glowing.

“Amamiya.” Kitagawa let go of his wrist. ‘ _When had he grabbed it?_ ’

He nodded. “Right.”

They skirted around the bushes right as the Shadows looked up to see Valjean tearing after them. The Shadows shrieked as they were tossed to the ground like bales of hay. Valjean turned and threw out its hands.

“ _Megidola_!”

White and pale lilac energy burst into existence. Beams of light shot from their spherical forms, exploding against the Shadows’ bodies and at their feet. Earth coughed and the trees tremored from the mythical power.

Enraged, the Shadows screamed their protests.

One’s outer shell broke, revealing a tall human garbed in silver and purple armor. His dark hair whipped behind him as he lunged forward with spear in hand.

The other grew into a samurai with hair tied and a Teretian sword on his back.

Zenkichi parried the first Shadow’s lance, but Ren only had seconds to observe Valjean rushing back to its owner.

Ren gasped sharply as the samurai’s knife cut his cheek. He heard it land somewhere on the stone steps before Kitagawa hurled a wakizashi in retaliation where it buried itself in the Shadow’s shoulder. The Shadow grimaced, before advancing after them.

Kitagawa drew his katana as the Shadow brought down its own. Their blades danced off one another, feet stepping forward and back as they deflected and slashed.

He plucked the Shadow’s discarded dagger. As Kitagawa leapt back, crouching with a hand on the hilt, Ren flicked his wrist.

The knife slithered through the air like a serpent, digging its pointed tooth into the Shadow’s forehead. Its head jolted back and Kitagawa dragged his sword up its body.

No lacerations or blood appeared as it fell back and tumbled down the stairs, but it did not crumble into dust. The Shadow landed in a seemingly lifeless pile at the gate.

Valjean swung its arm. The chains whistled viciously as the first Shadow crashed into the leg of the gate. Persona trailing behind, Zenkichi stepped over their bodies, surging up the stairs behind them.

“Keep moving!!”

He saw the peak of the hokora, pushing through the growing ache in his knees with every step. Kitagawa was at his side with Zenkichi on his heels. Philemon’s butterfly statue was a welcoming beacon, pure white despite its gravelly body.

It itched to be touched, giving the promise to bring them home and out of the growing hell that chased after them.

The pain exploded in his back, and bright colors of pink and teal and white burst into his vision. He did not scream as he fell, but he could hear Kitagawa’s shouting of his name and Zenkichi calling for another _Megidola._

Ren looked over his shoulder just in time to see a drill of light-yellow energy crashing into Zenkichi’s sword.

The snap pierced his ears.

Zenkichi’s sword cleaved in two and the drill slammed into his chest and Valjean disappeared in a crescendo of light.

Panic choked him and he reached out futilely. “ _Zenkichi_!!”

The samurai Shadow swung its sword in a myriad of slashes. And though Kitagawa countered with his katana, Ren could still feel the wind tear through clothes and flesh alike.

Kitagawa fell to his knees, katana clattering against the stone loudly.

Ren groped for his knife, his nerves alight and the hilt shivered violently in his grasp. He fell forward on his hands and knees, aiming for the samurai as it raised the sword above its head…

…and it screamed as Zenkichi’s sword pierced through its chest. Black static sang loudly from its wound before it burst into ash.

Red energy burst at the feet of the second Shadow and it drew back its sword.

“Go… Go, _now_!” Zenkichi rasped.

The drill blazed forward as if released from the string of a bow.

Everything flipped as it rammed into them.

He glimpsed the gray sky and towering trees before his body cracked against the stairs. His teeth clamped down on his tongue, and he could taste the blood as it erupted in his mouth. Dazed, he looked up, unaware the knife had been knocked from his shivering grip.

With the mask, Ren could not see Zenkichi’s face, but he wasn’t moving. Kitagawa was on one knee, leaning against the katana for support.

“Kitagawa…” his voice was weak and he cleared his throat. “Zenkichi’s not…”

Zenkichi’s mask sparked.

But Valjean did not appear.

“Dammit…!” Zenkichi coughed. “At this rate, we’re…”

The second Shadow had been watching them curiously all this time. Bright yellow energy spiked up from its feet.

“It’s charging up again…” Zenkichi pushed lightly at Ren’s hand. “Get to the statue, Amamiya.”

He couldn’t believe it. “I’m not leaving you!”

“Stop being stubborn and _go_!” he snapped.

Frustration and panic whirled in his chest and surged up his throat. He glanced to the Shadow with its sword raised parallel in front of its body, charging for that same spell.

If he were ignorant, he would try to reason with it.

…Maybe he was a fool all along.

Zenkichi shouted his name as Ren tore down the stairs for Kitagawa and the Shadow.

But then Kitagawa thrust out his arm, stopping him just short.

Ren tried knocking away his hand. “Stand aside. That’s an order.”

“Then forgive me for my disobedience.” Kitagawa retorted, and the tassel bells of the white fox mask tinkled in the quiet air as he turned his head.

He stepped back. Blinked.

The same blue and white flames that snaked along Zenkichi’s mask now licked across Kitagawa’s. As it burned away, Ren saw sadness in his eyes—

 _No_.

Guilt.

Kitagawa looked away.

“Goemon!”

A dark blue silhouette burst into existence, but unlike Valjean’s, Ren could not make out the details of its body. There was its body and a large object pinched between its fingers. It looked eerily like a pipe. On its feet were what Ren thought were geta sandals. The ends of its robe snarled in the sudden icy wind that seemed to burst from Kitagawa… and maybe from the creature itself.

It brought the pipe to its lips and inhaled deeply. Then, it blew.

The sound of a raging snowstorm bellowed from its throat as particles of ice rained from its mouth and onto the Shadow. Patches of ice bled into existence as they reached the ground. Crystals sprouted at the Shadows feet, sprawling up its body until it was specked with white.

Shivering, the Shadow struggled to move. But it could not, for the ice was stronger. It howled its frustration in the face of Goemon’s blizzard.

More shards burst from the ground.

The flames _whooshed_ and Kitagawa’s Persona vanished, mask reappearing.

Ren looked at the Shadow and how it struggled in vain. He saw the black and red sprawls of ice burn across its skin and face. Its breath frosted with every angry grunt, and though Kitagawa had saved them, Ren could not stop from feeling a bit perturbed by the result of Kitagawa’s magic.

_Kitagawa’s… magic._

(“Can _you_ use it?”

“Why does it matter?”)

_You lied._

“Get moving. It won’t hold for long.”

Sparing one last glance at the Shadow, Ren hurried up the steps. He couldn’t look at Kitagawa, and he was glad Kitagawa wouldn’t look at him. Questions spilled into his head along with hurt and betrayal, but he bit them back.

Zenkichi’s silence did little to help, but Ren did not miss the knowing glimpse he shared with Kitagawa.

 _They both knew_.

Ren was beginning to wish he took the Shadow’s hit, that it would’ve knocked him unconscious so he wouldn’t have to stand between two Persona users.

He wanted nothing more than to hurl the butterfly idol down the steps.

“Amamiya—”

“Minochi. I know.” Ren snapped at Zenkichi.

“…Yeah.”

Then he paused. “Why don’t one of you do this,” he sneered. The part of his brain that screamed for him to _stop, not now_ was silenced when he saw the guilt on Kitagawa’s face. “You have more experience with Ne no Kuni than I do.”

“Don’t be like that.”

He ignored Zenkichi, wrenching the idol from its stand. “Take us to Minochi.”

“Amamiya, calm down and put that back. You’re going to mess it up.”

But he could not. He was tired of it all. Of magic. Of Ne no Kuni. Of being pitied. Of being kept in the dark.

The idol grew warm.

“I was wrong to start trusting you.”

It burned hotter, stinging in his hand, but he only held tighter.

“That spell back there… You’ve had this power for a while, haven’t you? It was strong, Kitagawa. _I_ could feel it.”

Kitagawa averted his eyes. “We should discuss this elsewhere.”

He barked out a laugh. “Okay, elsewhere. Let’s keep postponing it. You were fine lying to us before. So did Sojiro know?”

A pause. Kitagawa shook his head.

“And Futaba? Were you _really_ talking about art then?”

“We were. I was honest with you.” Kitagawa replied. “Please, we need to return to our world.”

Ren almost screamed at him when thunder grumbled and lightning cracked the sky. Confused, he looked past Kitagawa.

The ice on one of the Shadow’s feet shattered. Lightning pierced the stairs as it rained down from the heavens.

Zenkichi grabbed the hand Ren was using to hold the idol just as a bolt of lightning struck the butterfly mask.

Fire burst from its touch, setting the hokora ablaze, and Ren could feel the idol snap as he fell back.

Black consumed his vision.

.

..

When he came to, he recognized the shrine. It was in Iwakura’s city with scarce visitors, only this time, there was no one walking the streets. The evening bathed everything in its orange glow, but Ren could hardly enjoy the view.

“This isn’t Minochi…” Kitagawa muttered, and it was then Ren realized Zenkichi was nowhere in sight.

“You’ve been there before too?” he couldn’t help quipping. But Ren didn’t understand either. They were thinking of Minochi when they had touched the idol…

Before Kitagawa could protest, the sound of footsteps thundered in the street. Guards, warriors that daimyo Sakura Sojiro hired, poured past the tori and surrounded them. And though Kitagawa stood in front of him, Ren did not want his protection.

They parted, and from the crowd emerged a man with copper hair and brown eyes. His glasses glinted in the sunlight.

“Welcome home, Amamiya Ren.” Natsume Ango said.

Ren did not return the greeting.

Natsume didn’t seem to mind. “You’re back much earlier than expected,” he continued. “Come, everyone’s waiting at the palace.”

“You arrived on time. How did you know we were in Ne no Kuni?” Kitagawa demanded.

All signs of pleasantry were washed from Natsume’s face. He regarded Kitagawa coldly. “If you want even a chance of seeing daimyo Sakura again, you will both cooperate. You can either come back willingly, or…” his eyes narrowed suddenly, and he looked to one of the guards.

Kitagawa screamed as the arrow plunged into his shoulder.

“Kitagawa!” Ren dropped to his fallen body, careful of the arrow. Yanking it out would do more damage than keeping it in. He glared up at Natsume. “You didn’t give us much of a choice.”

“And do you think I’m stupid?” Natsume countered. “I’ve known Kitagawa for years. I know what he is and what he can do. Now get on your feet and walk.”

Laughter rumbled from Kitagawa’s lips, muffled in the dirt. An unpleasant smirk had cracked itself across his face. “You wouldn’t kill him. Not while you continue to serve Konoe. Because you’re scared.”

Natsume flinched.

Kitagawa continued, “If you were to kill Amamiya, there is something darker waiting for you - a fate worse than death. But capture him, and you get your one-way voyage back to Teret.” He chuckled darkly. “How despicable… You have become no different than the puppets in your stories. Unable to move on his own and needing someone to pull the strings and guide you where you want...”

“ _Shut up_!! I _worked_ to get where I wanted while you wasted away in that village!! It was this filthy country that _tore me away from it all!!_ From my _happiness_!!” Natsume screamed, and the soldiers looked at him in alarm.

‘ _What a child…_ ’ Ren thought.

At their astonishment, he dusted off his clothes in a feeble attempt to calm himself. “While you are here, you will _not_ talk to me like that.” he looked to the same person who fired the arrow. “Don’t kill either one of them. Even Kitagawa can be of some use. And leave that arrow alone.”

“Sir.”

“You’re not going to heal him?” Ren snapped at his retreating back.

Natsume sneered. “You are the great Wild Card, aren’t you? Why don’t you heal him yourself?”

Ren’s fingers tightened on Kitagawa’s shoulder, and he winced beneath him.

“As I was saying before, Amamiya…”

He heard one of the soldiers step forward on his right. The pommel crashed into his skull and he saw a burst of stars as he toppled to the ground. He heard Kitagawa call out his name under Natsume’s voice.

“…Welcome back.”

And he passed out once more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **click end notes for warnings in this chapter**.
> 
> Sorry for taking so long with this update. I'm not giving details for the unexpected hiatus, but it did help me decide on where I'm standing for this fandom and the content I make for it.
> 
> For those who patiently waited for this and kept subscribed/bookmarked or just kept tabs on it for reading purposes, thank you. It means a lot. To those who are new, welcome.

When first he woke, he realized quickly they had not put him in a Riiben prison cell. The floor was cobblestone and the bars were metal. Splotches of rust gathered at the bottom of some of the rods. It was ridiculously tight as well, and he found himself unable to stretch out fully in the width of space he’d been given.

Across from him was another cell, and to the left and right were more until the hallway curved around the elbow of the wide room. The voices and footfalls came from above, meaning there was a flight of stairs.

After Amamiya had been struck unconscious, he was dragged to his feet by one of the men. Dragged away from Amamiya who lay helpless and vulnerable in the dirt. It was as if they knew Yusuke could use magic, as if they believed he could _heal_ his lord.

(He almost scoffed. His magic never healed. It was never an option for him. _Never_ —)

They jammed a bag over his head then, obscuring his vision. His nose had wrinkled at the musty smell of the fabric as it was pushed against his face. The rope they used to bind his wrists was coarse and itched horribly if he so much as shifted. He bit the linen of the bag to muffle a shout when someone carelessly jostled his shoulder.

As Nastume commanded, they had left the arrow.

Though Amamiya’s name sat anxiously on his tongue, he held his voice as they pushed and shoved him in the direction they wanted to go. He was being herded like cattle to slaughter.

“Relax. Your little lordling is fine.” Natsume had assured then.

Yusuke scowled at the vague silhouette of Natsume’s head. He said nothing.

“Kitagawa?”

A retort sprung to his lips. What left his mouth was not a curse, but an exclaim that he was unable to muffle this time. The arrow twisted painfully before probing with the curiosity of a child who poked at dying animals.

His arm tightened in reaction, body shrinking away from the assailant and pressing into someone on his right. He was rewarded an expected shove in return.

“Be a good boy and we’ll get this looked at.” Natsume said beneath the groaning of a drawbridge.

…A _drawbridge_?

Curiosity struck his mind, but he had little time to ponder further when he felt _it._

He didn’t know what to call _it_ , but it was the same feeling of crossing into Ne no Kuni. And before his mind could process what was happening or where they were taking him, he dropped to the floor like a puppet cut of its strings.

Between the drawbridge, the cells, and the stone flooring, Yusuke knew this was not Iwakura. At least not the one he – _anyone_ – was familiar with. And though his mind began to work, he had little time to create a decent hypothesis before the screeching of a metal door sounded from down the hall.

The guardsmen were dressed like Ohara and Natsume that day in Jukai: boiled leather, shining pauldrons, woolen breeches and heavy metal boots, and finally, Teretian swords strapped to their belts. Behind the bangs of their dark hair were molten gold eyes. He adapted quickly to the Shadows, and Teret’s clothing was not as foreign to him as it was once.

But _Natsume’s_ outfit was different.

On his feet were dark, pointed metal boots. He was wrapped in black robes with a fauld and tassets. Gold-outlined shoulder pauldrons curved quirked their heads curiously, lifting the red velvet of the frayed mantle clinging from around his neck.

“You’re finally awake, Kitagawa.” he spoke with false pleasantry, as if there _weren’t_ bars separating them.

Pushing down the burning question about Natsume’s dressing, Yusuke calmly asked, “Where’s Amamiya?”

“It’s always about your lord, isn’t it?” he brushed at invisible lint lining the front of his robes. It was a nervous habit he’d picked up over the years, Yusuke realized. “Yes, yes, always about someone else and never you. I suppose that’s to be expected from a samurai.”

If there was any hope of Nastume rekindling love for Riiben, it was gone now.

It shouldn’t have hurt.

And yet, it did.

“But you were always like that. Even when we lived together…” Natsume frowned. “Now then, come along. There are things I would like to discuss, and I can’t bear this room any longer.” As one of the guards reached for a ring of keys, he added, “If you try anything, Kitagawa, there will be punishment.”

“Seeing you dressed like this is punishment enough.” Yusuke quipped.

His lips pulled back in a scowl. “And you will mind your tongue less I have it pried from your mouth.”

‘ _Of course_ ,’ Yusuke thought bitterly. ‘ _You were never one to get your hands dirty._ ’

The lock clicked, a final warning that misbehavior would earn him a terrible punishment.

He needn’t be told twice, and though his mind (his _Persona_ ) demanded he fight back, Yusuke refused.

Natsume’s men were uncharacteristically mindful of the arrow wound this time, having removed the projectile and crudely bandaging his shoulder while he had been unconscious. They even bound his wrists in front of him instead of twisting them behind his back.

There was little doubt a Catch was attached to their shade of generosity, and his eyes slid to Natsume as he was dragged to his feet. Pain needled like pinpricks through his legs at finally having the chance to stand.

Suppressing reluctance, he followed in step.

The hallway did curve, branching off from the room of cells and stretching into an upper and lower staircase. At both ends of stairs were wooden doors with metal handles. They squealed in annoyance as Natsume forced them open.

Light spilled onto the stone flooring, onto his feet and bouncing off dark clothing. He blinked, from discomfort and confusion. There was a long, red rug with gold tassels stretching on the ground. Floor-to-ceiling windows of stained glass pressed at intervals along the walls, and finally a grand chandelier of expensive crystal winked down at them.

“Where are we?” he finally asked.

“Iwakura.” Natsume answered plainly.

A sudden push into his uninjured shoulder propelled him forward.

‘ _But this isn’t Iwakura…_ ’

The room he was led to was an average size, and the door had been just as plain as the one in the dungeon only with a more-polished front and a shinier knob.

It seemed there was more and more gold the further he went into “Iwakura”.

In the center of the room was a table supported on metal, claw-like legs. Its top so polished it cast the ceiling’s reflection back at it. Green-cushioned chairs waited patiently for its guests. On the left wall was a grand fireplace with a modest flame chewing away at charred logs. Nestled in the fire was a brass tea kettle.

But the oddest thing about the room may have been the walls.

Golden borders and swirling patterns stretched around the room, but each wall depicted men in Teretian armor.

One depicted a fair maiden in green with her hands clutched atop her bosom as a knight raised his sword against a fearsome dragon. Another showing that same woman and knight beneath a white altar with an adoring crowd that threw painted roses. The last was of the maiden atop a cliff, her back turned to her audience as she watched a ship immobilized on the sea’s horizon.

Natsume took his seat first, one leg crossed over the other. The guards forced Yusuke in the other chair. They did not undo his bindings.

“Much better,” he said. At Yusuke’s continued silence, he asked, “What’s the matter? Is it the gold?”

“Only partially.” Yusuke replied, wanting to look anywhere but Natsume’s face. He was still drawn to the wall-paintings and the implied story of knights and courtship. When he grew bored, he looked down at the table.

He stared back at himself, breath stilling in a slow-mounting shock. His hair was a mess, scraggly from laying on his side and having it tugged and pulled by offenders’ in his sleep, no doubt. Under his eyes were dark, half-moon circles, and he could see a faint split in his lower lip. Dirt was dusted on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, anywhere it could reach. It even jammed itself under his fingernails.

_How long had he been in that cell…?_

Yusuke curled his hands into fists and looked up, not wanting to continue staring at how _filthy_ he was.

It was becoming obvious as to why Natsume had brought him to such a clean, sparkling room.

Frustration and shame bubbled in his throat, and he found himself staring at the one person he did _not_ want to look at.

“The West loved that story, you know…” Natsume said softly, but he wasn’t looking at Yusuke. His gaze was fixated on the wallpaper of the woman staring at the ship. “Of the young lady who nearly cast herself to the sea when her husband grew bored of her. In some versions, she was with child, and took it with her as she was swallowed beneath the waves. In another tale, she only killed herself.”

A pause.

“It wasn’t my _best_ work, but Teret seemed to enjoy it.”

“You seem to have gathered inspiration from an old wives’ tale.” Yusuke said, thinking back to what he said to Natsume days and days before.

“Yes, but that one did not have an ending.” He peeled his gaze back to Yusuke, face hard and unreadable. “I know you’re not one for small talk, so let’s be on with it. You and Amamiya emerged from Ne no Kuni in Iwakura’s city shrine. Normally, you can only travel between worlds with a God’s blessing…” his fingers slipped into his robes. Between them, was a card that he soon flicked across the table. “…or hanafuda cards. Special ones. But Riiben seems to have made a few exceptions for people like you and Amamiya.

“If I recall correctly, Amamiya can not yet use magic. The people of Iwakura are wary of him, distrustful of their future daimyo. Your country places so much blind faith in magic that some can no longer think for themselves, so instead, Amamiya and any other unfortunate magic user becomes crushed under society’s expectations. So answer me this, Kitagawa Yusuke…”

Natsume leaned forward on steepled fingers. “How did _you_ avoid their scrutiny?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Yusuke snapped bitterly, the answer automatic and practiced despite the anger that trembled in it.

“How,” he continued slowly. “did daimyo Sakura not know you were a Persona-user? That you too had magic that could be used to save the country you claim to love so much?”

“As if you have any right to lecture me on such matters. You healed Ohara that day with magic…” he hesitated. “You’ve healed _me_ , when we—”

“And yet the gods refused me entry into Ne no Kuni…” Natsume scowled, falling back into his seat and crossing his arms. “I had to be like everyone else even though _I_ was given a gift. I tried butterfly idols and hanafuda cards… but it was never enough. And then there was _you_. Someone who scorned magic and hid it, who stood there with that blank _face_ on your face that you’re doing now! _You_ were able to go into the invisible world—”

“Why does this matter so much to you?” Yusuke cut in. “If you think you can control any of the monsters that live there, you’re a fool.”

“I told you before, Kitagawa: I don’t care for Riiben. I don’t want the power to rule…” he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. The fire hiccuped in the sudden quiet of the room. “I want the _Kusanagi no Tsurugi_ and its sister, the _Yata no Kagami_.”

The names struck a chord of familiarity in him. He _knew_ them. But he’d never seen them in Ne no Kuni. No matter how far he went in. “The Sacred Treasures…?”

He nodded.

Yusuke couldn’t help but scoff. “You really _have_ been listening to children’s stories.”

“…What was that?” Natsume glowered.

He knew it was dangerous, but he continued anyway. “Their powers aren’t real. And if they were, they wouldn’t be in a place humans couldn’t reach. You’d have better luck at Tocho. Ask politely and they’ll give you a tour of their treasury.”

Nastume’s fist slammed against the table. “Don’t mock me!”

“How am I mocking you?” Yusuke quirked an eyebrow.

“You don’t understand how important those are… They are the _reason_ why I’m back in this country. Once I have them, I can—”

“—You were planning on stealing Riiben’s imperial regalia just to cart it off back to Teret?” disgust crept into his voice. “Is that what we are to you? A place you can steal from and pawn off in another country?”

“I need it for payment, yes!”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You abandoned this country to make a living in Teret. You bragged of your success. Surely you have enough coin to give back to whatever debt you owe.”

“It’s not that type of payment…” Natsume muttered. “Fine. If you won’t cooperate on that, then we can talk about _this_.” He looked to one of the guards and gave a firm nod.

They walked over, firmly placed _something_ on the table, before retreating to their spot by the door.

Yusuke was familiar with that bottle, having it with him since he was a child. It was irreplaceable even if the liquid that bounced inside wasn’t.

“Medicine…” Yusuke deadpanned, trying to quell the rising trepidation stirring in his heart.

“Bullshit.”

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“This isn’t any fucking medicine, Kitagawa…” he popped off the top, took a careful whiff. “For someone like me, I could take one dose and all my problems would be solved. But for you?” Natsume glared. “It has to be continuous. Maybe it isn’t any different from medicine, but its certainly not healing you.”

His heart thudded loudly. “What are you saying?”

“Oh come now, don’t make me spell it out,” Natsume huffed. “Keep taking it and you won’t be able to go back to Ne no Kuni. Sooner or later, you’ll be no different than daimyo Sakura.”

“That’s not true.”

Yusuke’s hands twisted against the ropes, but what would he have done if he got loose? There were three of them – well, _two._ Yusuke doubted Nastume could do much – against him, and they had made quick work of stripping him of his sword upon capture. It would be an uphill battle.

But Nastume continued. “What would Amamiya have done if he found out? Your young lord who desires his own magic, only to find out you desire the opposite? Would he turn you into his false father for lying to them? When you should’ve been at the front of the lines instead of masquerading to some vows recited by old men?”

“Stop it.”

“Maybe you hate Amamiya too. You were envious of each other because he has what you want, and you have what he wants. It was the same way you felt about me when we first met, but it soon turned to pity. Because I was cursed as well.” He tossed the vial aside, the liquid arching before splattering next to its container on the carpet. “Face it, Kitagawa: You are not a samurai. You are the farthest thing from it.”

Leaning forward, Nastume said, “No matter how far you run, you can’t escape what you’ve done to them. You will always be that sad little boy I met in Ikuta.”

It had been unwise to leave him tied at the front.

In one quick motion, Yusuke whipped his bound wrists from his lap to the side of his face. There was no regret, not even when his knuckle thudded painfully against Natsume's cheekbone.

The impact of his body hitting the carpet came next. A knee dug into his back while the second guard’s foot slammed down on his tied hands. He garbled a cry but made no more sound.

“You…!” Nastume started, cradling his cheek as if it’d been punched in instead of bruised. “Arrogant, disgusting—” He knelt at Yusuke’s side, hands twisting in the slouching topknot as he yanked his head up. “How dare you lay a finger on me! I brought you here to have a peaceful discussion, but _this_?! You— _animal_!”

His scalp was on fire, and even as he lifted his head to help accommodate Natsume’s grip, he would retaliate by pulling until Yusuke’s neck would ache back in protest.

The floor rushed up to meet him as Natsume slammed him against it, pressing him down as if he wanted the very carpet to swallow up Yusuke and drain him back to his cell.

“I tried being nice, Kitagawa… But you made me do this.”

When they had him on his knees and wrists tied around one of the sturdy legs of the tables, that was when the room rippled.

Yusuke caught a glimpse of the tatami mat, could _feel_ it pressing into his shins, the shoji door, the tiny altar to Philemon… and just as quickly as it came, it vanished, replaced once again with the three painted wallpapers and Teretian décor.

Natsume must have noticed it too. He pried open the kettle by the fire. “…still weak.”

He wasn’t given time to ponder what he meant. One of the guards hooked their hands into the back of his kimono. Yusuke’s breath caught in his throat as they slid the knife from the neck to the waistline of his hakama.

“What’re you doing…?!” he jerked against his bindings as they forcefully bared his back to the room.

“They can’t answer you, Kitagawa,” Natsume drawled. “They’re Shadows. Tools at my disposal.”

His forehead knocked against the table’s lip, and someone’s hand was at his hair _again_. He gritted his teeth, bit back a retort that would cost him his tongue if it were spat in the wrong direction.

A shudder zipped along his spine as _something_ was trailed down his back. It was coarse as leather, but thinly stripped and hooked at the tips.

When Natsume spoke, his voice came from above him. From behind. “The regalia doesn’t exist, fine, fine… But the Persona do and there’s still so much we don’t know about them,” he sighed, and the leather fluttered away from his back. “So, let’s go over what we _do_ know.”

Now that he was at eye-level, he noticed the leg of the table depicted tiny carvings. They were reminiscent of grapevines, twisting and twining with one another as they spiraled into a stronger root that splayed out beneath one corner of the tabletop. Everything about the furniture was Teretian, but it seemed it had been mimicked down to the tiniest detail.

Of course, they had been carved in the richest gold.

As rich and deep as the Shadows’ eyes.

Yusuke shouted as the pain exploded against his back, the whip licking around his shoulder and pulling and _burning_ , tantalizing that damn arrow-wound. His teeth dug into his lip and though he wanted to turn, he could not when his body was screaming at him to stay still. Warm wetness slithered down from the laceration. It was only the first of many.

“I said,” Natsume glowered. “What triggers a Persona?”

If he looked at the tapestries, he could try and imagine a happier ending for the poor maiden—

—a second, on the right side this time—

(his wrists twisted and stung as he tugged)

—one where the husband never left and they raised that child together.

“What separates them from magic?!”

A third, curving around his lower back and mercifully clapping against his hakama. But the fourth came quicker, whip snapping the air before it stretched over the second lashing to his hip. His exclaims were ripped from his lips before he could stop himself. His knees shuddered and he slouched, head pressing into the hardened rope.

He couldn’t think of any happy ending for the tapestries. Not when his mind was begging him to _endure it, endure it, endure it_.

“Why you and not _me_?!” the last word was accompanied with a final blow, crashing somewhere on his back – it didn’t matter, not when he was drowning in agony – and Yusuke would’ve fallen had he not been supported.

 _You and not me_.

Amamiya never said those words to him, but when he looked at him with betrayal (and disgust) when they were escaping Ne no Kuni, he very well could’ve told him the same damn thing and it wouldn’t have made a difference.

On trembling lips, he gritted out. “I never wanted it.”

He flinched in the anticipation of another laceration that would eagerly peel apart his skin, but it never came.

“…What did you say?”

Louder, “I never wanted it. My Persona, my magic…” his lungs were weighed down from the pain thrumming in his back and his shoulders. “I would give it to Amamiya if I could. If it would help ease the burden on his shoulders…”

He paused long enough to fixate Natsume’s dumbstruck face with a sneer. For the first time, something akin to _hate_ curled in his stomach for this man he would have called a friend all those years ago. For once, he could put aside that long-buried amicableness he thought he’d smothered the day of their reunion in the forest.

“And I would have gladly offered it to you… if all it took was a Persona to pacify a fucking man child—!”

He glared at Natsume.

Natsume stared back.

Then, he dropped the whip, moving to the lone kettle by the fireplace. The lid clattered to the ground as he tossed it unceremoniously. His face was blank, but Yusuke knew those eyes. He knew tranquil fury when he saw it. He knew what Natsume intended to do the minute he angled that pot over him. Whatever liquid was inside hissed threateningly as it sloshed to and fro in its metal confinement.

(‘ _Don’t do this._ ’)

The water flowed from the spout, splashing onto his bloody back.

And he screamed.

Because it was all he could do.

.

..

Yusuke's first mistake was following Sensei.

The forest was large and scary, shadows of towering trees stretching along the dark grass and spilling onto the steps of the shrine. When he grabbed the idol for himself – a small butterfly – he expected to be transported wherever Sensei landed.

But Sensei was nowhere in sight.

He wandered, calling out in a voice trembling with growing worry and panic. Deeper into the stomach of the woods, he realized he had lost his way.

A boy of five years old was not none the wiser without his peers. All the tree trunks were beginning to look the same – big and ominous – and he could feel the tears beginning to spill from his eyes and run down his cheeks. They tasted salty and it only made him cry harder.

Something snapped behind him, and he whirled on his small legs.

“Sensei?” he called back to the abyss.

But the abyss did not answer.

Yusuke ran as if hell was at his heels.

He tripped and tumbled over thick roots, scraped his knees on an unforgiving rock jutting from the dirt like a newborn tooth. A cry sawed out of him and he curled in on himself, dragging his body to the hollow of a dead tree. The smell of dirt and moss stung his nose, and he buried his head against his knees.

It was a bad dream. It was just a bad dream.

Sensei told him scary stories of a strange world that children had no business being in.

Yet, he had a question. He had to know the answer.

But now, he couldn’t _recall_ that question.

Sobs rumbled out of him as his mind conjured creative scenarios of a forest swallowing him alive, of shadows leaping from soil to drag him down to their own hell where earth would cram down his throat and nose. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He never wanted to come back. He wanted to go home, back to the atelier in their little village and sleep the rest of the night away.

“Oh?”

Yusuke froze, but he did not look up. Through the small space of his stacked arms, he could see the forest. But there was a sliver of rich, dark blue. When it moved, he slammed his eyes shut.

“Go away! I’m sorry, I was bad…!” he shouted into his sleeves.

Silence.

The sound of grass and dirt crunching underfoot, and he feared the dark blue thing was walking closer.

“What is a human doing here?” the voice was childish, but there was an edge of maturity. Still, he did not look up. “Will you please tell me where you’re from?”

There was something inviting about her presence – something gentle. Ever so slowly, he pulled his face away from his arms, looking through blurry eyes at a young girl. She looked twice his age, maybe a little less. Her hair was platinum and long, reaching beyond her back. She wore a dark blue dress and a headband with butterfly ornaments and yellow roses. Her clothes were not from Riiben, but from Teret instead. Tucked under her arm was a large dark blue book with golden accents.

To Yusuke, she was the strangest girl he had ever seen.

Her yellow eyes glistened in amusement. “Do I look silly to you?” she asked gently.

Blushing, he shook his head. It was rude to stare.

“Humans should not be in Ne no Kuni – especially a child. It’s not safe here.” She crouched down so they were at eye-level. “Let me help you. I can give you something that will protect you from the Shadows. But you must accept yourself first if you ever want to control it without the help of Ne no Kuni.”

His eyes fell to the book in her hand, which she rested atop her bent knees. The pages shuffled softly as she leafed through them.

The girl hesitated. “Please understand that with this power, you _must_ be careful. I don’t wish to give it to a child, but I do not know what will happen if you leave Ne no Kuni without magic to anchor you.” She paused. “I’m sorry. This must be confusing. It is why we don’t allow humans to cross over.”

It _was_ confusing. But Yusuke didn’t care. He shook his head stubbornly. “I want to go home. Where’s Sensei?”

She looked at him quizzically. “Was there someone else with you?”

“My Sensei. He comes to the shrine to work on his art.”

The girl stood then, keeping her finger in the spine of the book so she wouldn’t lose track of the page she was on. Her golden eyes scanned their surroundings, a gentle frown creasing her delicate face.

“Strange. I do not feel another human life in the vicinity…” and she knelt once again, book propped open, and palm facing up. “We must hurry. Please give me your hand.” At his hesitance, she gave another smile. “I won’t hurt you.”

He could feel her thin fingers through her arm-length, black gloves. They had scarcely touched when the text on the page came to life. The book began to glow with a soft, light green aura.

“I am thou… Thou art I… From the sea of thy soul, I call upon the being that sleeps within thyself. Grant them guidance through a world that shan’t be tread by man.”

His heart thudded loudly in his chest. He brought a hand to his chest, grasping and twisting the fabric as if to root himself. Mild discomfort grew into burning pain, and he could not keep from crying out. Through gritted teeth and the tome’s glow against the backdrop of closed eyes, he felt the girl’s hand on his hunched shoulders.

And something _grew_.

It was as if something were being _pulled_ from him. As if he were plucking a lone splinter from the soft pads of his fingertips. But it felt larger and it tugged from his heart. There was a sudden weight on his face before that gave way to a warmth. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Blue and white flames flickered before his eyes, licking at his cheeks. They did not burn, and for as quick as they came, they were gone just as fast.

The sound of metal sang in his ears. Dark chains spiraled from the ground – from _him_ – and Yusuke shuddered at the creature that towered over him.

 _Goemon_ … it whispered in his head.

“Please guide him home.” the girl said.

And as he felt Goemon beginning to tug on their mental link, Yusuke glanced back at the girl. “Thank you, Miss…?”

“You can call me Lavenza,” she answered. “Should we meet again, I will tell you more about the Persona. But please be careful.”

There were many things he wanted to ask her, but Goemon seemed less willing to listen. Maybe it was channeling the part of him that desired to escape, blocking out the patience he would need to stay any longer in ‘Ne no Kuni’.

Instead, he continued, his feet carrying him in what he hoped was the right direction.

Goemon did not speak to him.

.

..

“Yusuke!” His Sensei’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Where have you been? We were all looking for you.”

But that kindly concern fell away to shock when Sensei turned him around.

Ice danced along Yusuke’s fingertips, but he could not feel its frigid bite. It spiraled down his wrists and stopped at his forearms.

“I can’t make it stop—”

.

..

He drifted in and out of consciousness, aware he had eventually blacked out from the pain alone. His throat was raw from screaming

(Not begging. He had _refused_ to beg.)

and he could scarcely put up a fight when Natsume had taken a knife to his hair. Perhaps he had been so pathetic and weak that the Shadows felt it was unworthy of their time to intervene.

But his face was pressed into the carpet, insults spat against his abused back while the blade crunched eagerly through his hair. Its weight soon fell from his head. As if to taunt him, Natsume dropped what he hacked off right next to Yusuke’s face. A dark blue clump with a black hair tie.

(It served its purpose well.)

“You are not a samurai…” Natsume said coldly for a second time. “You don’t deserve _that_.”

And he kicked at it, pointed boot narrowly missing Yusuke’s face.

“Take him back to his cell. Konoe should be finishing his meeting with Amamiya.”

 _Amamiya_ …?

“What, did that get your attention?” Natsume glowered, and Yusuke prayed he had not looked too hopeful. “Well, no matter. What Konoe does with him is none of my concern and you’ll come to accept that it isn’t yours either. I ask for your cooperation so our meeting tomorrow goes smoother…” he waved dismissively. “Take him away. And no food or water.”

They had not been careful when hoisting him up nor when they dumped him in his cell. Yusuke landed harshly on his back with an exclaim. He rolled onto his stomach then, biting back tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks, and pressed his forehead against the cold floor.

When he turned, he realized in between his meeting with Natsume they had deposited a wooden bucket in the corner. It was such a generous honor that he'd have somewhere to relieve himself if need be.

A chill swept through the room, and he ran his fingers miserably through his shorn hair as the cold pricked his scalp. Natsume had cut it to his neck, some ends longer than others. Yusuke was positive he’d be granted the privilege of seeing his reflection the next day.

He quickly lost track of the time, keeping his eyes shut against the surrounding darkness and listening to deafening silence. Bitterly, he wondered if Amamiya could hear him screaming, and then he wondered if Amamiya even _cared_. Yusuke could use a Persona, so why hadn’t he used it then?

( _because, I…_ )

But Yusuke humored himself with the memory of Amamiya’s hand on his shoulder when he had been shot. If Amamiya really hated him, his lip would have curled in disgust.

(“ _…Is that how you_ really _see him?”_ )

…He didn’t want to think about Amamiya right now.

About anything.

But sleep took forever to crawl to him, to ease away the blistering pain and stinging dancing from his back to his head.

When the cell doors opened again, he didn’t look up. He didn’t speak.

Footsteps. Heavy boots from their sound. Then, they stopped.

Yusuke held his breath.

“Fuck... What the hell did he do to you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if Yusuke using a F-bomb was OOC.
> 
> [Chapter 8 notes + warnings.](https://ne-no-kuni.dreamwidth.org/2255.html)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PLEASE** read the warnings/notes on this chapter. This is the heaviest the fanfic will get in terms of torture.
> 
> Again, chapter got split because if I kept going with the escape scene, it would've added another 2k+, and this chapter is already at 10k something. There are 2-3 chapters left (if we include epilogue as one of them), so we're coming to an end.
> 
> Major potential triggers are:  
> 
> 
> * Non-consensual touching and frottage
>   
> 
> * Finger amputation
>   
> The rest can be accessed in the ending notes.

At first, Yusuke didn’t move. He dared not with the pain throbbing in warning, threatening to split apart in agony again if he so much as _moved_. But he needn’t worry when his visitor stepped into the line of sight.

It was a man with gray hair and eyes. He was not dressed in the same outfit as Natsume or the Shadows. Instead, he wore a set of dark hakama and an open kimono. Peaking from the shadows of the folds was a body of ink, intricate flowers and patterns swirling on a black backdrop.

 _Yakuza_.

Running away was not an option. If Yusuke had his sword, Konoe or his current master would have ordered to cut this man down. The crimes exacted by people like the yakuza were unforgivable.

Oftentimes, fact would mix with fiction, and he’d once heard a handful of exaggerated tales spun over a shared mealtime. One, he recalled with bitter amusement, was about a yakuza who feasted on the flesh of children and newborns. Another robbed a merchant in Minochi before cutting him open from neck to stomach where his innards baked under the morning sun.

Yusuke never believed any of them. He had no doubt Natsume would have held them in greater interest.

The man knelt, but did not touch his back. A shock of relief bled into wariness. “And they expect me to clean this shit up…” he mumbled. “Hey, can you stand?”

‘ _Unlikely_.’ Yusuke thought bitterly, frowning.

“Glaring at me isn’t going to get you out of this mess,” he deadpanned. “I’m not hear to slit your throat. You’re more useful to that brat alive than you are dead.” (Yusuke must’ve made a face then, for the man clarified,) “Natsume Ango. Him and his band of publishers… Though by the looks of it, guess he’s not all talk when it comes to punishment.”

“You work for him.” Yusuke said against the floor.

“And you’re that Amamiya kid’s loyal guard dog.”

Then, he reached.

Yusuke’s elbow rushed up to swing futilely at his hand. Instead of making contact, pain slithered along the left side of his back. He hissed sharply and his arm dropped to the floor uselessly.

“Don’t. Touch me.” he forced out.

“You’d rather wait for them to heal naturally?” the man snapped, words sharp. In any other situation, they may have cut. But Yusuke’s mind was too clouded with the discomfort and bubbling agony.

Was it not obvious Yusuke didn’t trust him? What made him so different from the others?

‘ _Because he can talk_ ,’ the thoughts struck him suddenly. ‘ _He’s not a puppet like the other Shadows._ ’ He may not even _be_ a Shadow.

There was the sound of something _popping_ , and when Yusuke looked up, he noticed the man was holding a container. A jar, to be exact. The same color and shape of the one Amamiya had given him back in Akiyama. He parted his lips to speak, but nothing came out. _Where did you get that? Was it from Amamiya?_ , but the questions did not tumble from his mouth as much as he wished them so.

His head was then pressed into the floor with a firmness he could scarcely fight off. Alarm and panic burned in his chest, and he foolishly fought back. He tried to pump his body up with his hands. The man simply dug his knee across the back of his thighs.

“What are you _doing_?!” Yusuke snarled.

And his answer came in liquid fire along his back.

Yusuke screamed his anguish into the stones, nails scraping into the tiles. Tears burned his eyes as much as the medicine singed his open wounds, tearing them open until he felt he was going to burst.

“Stop shouting,” the man said above him, oddly calm. “You don’t want to alert anyone.”

His breath propelled in and out of him, and he was stunned to find himself obeying the command. Teeth tore into his lower lip as he swallowed back his discomfort. Perhaps it was the idea that Natsume and his duo of Shadows could come back and whip him more that scared him out of rebelling a second time against this person. Or maybe it was because he wanted to believe there was someone who was capable of _thinking_.

It was like ice and fire licking into his flesh with acid tongues.

But if it _was_ the medicine Amamiya had given him, or something similar, then it would be over.

A minor cut or scrape would pinch.

Multiple lashes cauterized with burns that pinched welts in the cracks of skin was different.

“It’ll burn,” the man said nonchalantly, and Yusuke felt a twinge of irritation. Was there something amusing about his pain? “But it’ll be healed up within 12 hours. Long as you…” A pause followed by a sigh. “Never mind.”

The weight left his body, leaving his legs numb but unbruised. He blinked in surprise.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you, kid,” there was a bite to his words, but beneath them, something told Yusuke he meant no aggression. “They will though. Especially Nastume.”

His stomach dropped as if he had swallowed a block of lead. ‘Fear’ and ‘Natsume’ were two words Yusuke did not want to put together. He had no reason to fear his old friend – especially when he bellowed his anger and smacked around his whip. And yet… Yusuke could not forget. He couldn’t erase the boiling water cascading down his back in searing rivulets or the hooks that nipped eagerly at his unguarded skin.

In Ikuta, Yusuke had no reason to fear Natsume.

In ‘fake’ Iwakura, he was given every reason.

No.

The warnings were given to him much earlier, packaged neatly in Teretian armor and an angry tagalong soldier that didn’t see eye-to-eye with the person

(what happened to that man?, he wondered)

he was paid to guard.

When Natsume stomped into Iwakura with them, complaining of the cruelties of Riiben while praising Teret, Yusuke _knew_.

But he denied it. He wanted to believe that there was some part of the Natsume he used to cherish…

…and it was all chased out of him with a barrage of harsh words and violent beatings.

(a crude haircut too, but who was counting?)

He was only half-aware of the cell door closing again when his voice returned to him. “Who are you?”

There was silence. For a brief second, he thought the man had left.

“…Iwai.”

Yusuke nodded. His own name sat on his tongue, but he didn’t return it. Something told him Iwai already knew. Had ‘Iwai’ been his family name? It sounded like one.

‘ _Why does it matter?_ ’ Why had he asked? If he whispered that name to the stone walls of his cell, would the bars swing open as if they had been touched by magic? The idea was crazy in his head, so he threw it away, bitterly.

“You’re here?” a second voice sounded, and Yusuke whipped around as best he could from the ground.

Iwai was still at his cell, but there was someone else too. He looked the same as the Shadows that overwatched his earlier torment. But Yusuke knew this one was different from his voice. Those Shadows were like puppets on strings; this one seemed to have somewhat of a conscience.

The Shadow did not look at Yusuke with empty eyes, and Yusuke quickly found himself wishing he _would_. This person dragged his gaze over him like a hunter would its prey. Unease and repulsion stirred within him. He suddenly wished Iwai had closed the back of his kimono.

“Natsume was supposed to make sure there were no scars,” Iwai replied with thin anger. “ _Those_ will leave a mark.”

“He went easy on him. I overheard he wanted to do worse. Much worse.”

For a second time, the cell door opened.

Yusuke stiffened as the man knelt over his flayed back. He was expecting a prod to the open wounds and was puzzled when the man’s fingers touched the shorn locks of his hair. It was not a harsh tug; it was something far gentler.

Disgust curled in him.

“Cut that shit out, Betro.” Iwai snapped.

“I’m not doing anything,” the man answered, but his hand retreated…

…sliding down his thigh before ‘Betro’ began to rise to his feet. Yusuke nearly choked.

“I mean it,” Iwai hissed, yanking him up by his lapel. “The fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Konoe’s waiting.”

“Let him wait.”

“I’ll feed the kid,” Betro assured, and Yusuke didn’t want to be anywhere near this man for more than a second. “Cover your ass since you’ll cover mine. You don’t think they’ll be happy knowing you gave one of the prisoners medicine, do you?”

“You’ll stay at your post—”

“Natsume doesn’t care when I’m off duty,” he sighed, the sound of keys chiming before the lock turned. “But fine… fine, I’m going.”

The soreness that lit his back felt distant. All he could feel was the fading ( _repulsive_ ) touch of a man with perverted intentions. Even when he exited the dungeon, Yusuke couldn’t stop trembling.

Not scared. Angry. Infuriated at his helplessness.

“Hang in there,” Iwai sighed, but there had been a touch of concern to his voice this time. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” _Before Betro changes his mind_.

Once the dungeon door swung closed, Yusuke clenched his eyes shut.

Betro… he’d barely glimpsed his face with the poor lightning in the room, allowing shadows to stretch across his visitors’ bodies. He supposed being locked up, Betro’s face would have not helped him escape. It would give him another face to a name, another person he could scorn and curse at the empty walls of his mind.

Yusuke realized it would be easier for Betro to target him instead of Amamiya. If Betro laid his paws on Amamiya, then…

…He wasn’t sure what he’d do, but he’d make sure Amamiya would be the last person Betro touched.

The first thing he saw were the colors.

A searing orange and a glare of red that twisted and spiraled into burning flames that blazed across his mind’s eye. Beyond them were serene blues and greens, a forest with a sky choked by smoke. And further there were the stone steps climbing towards a red altar that ignited proudly under a sun that shone like a well-polished coin.

Somewhere on that altar, the flames lapped at the butterfly statue.

But it did not crumble to ash.

The second thing he saw was the room.

A moderate-sized room with a single-legged table, refined and polished tapestries depicting some strange story of a knight and dragon, and a leather sofa. And a second later, he realized he was _laying_ on that very sofa. It was beige with a dark trim and hard under his body. The cushion resting against the arm was red with gold tassels. On the ground was a carpet with a floral, vintage pattern of lilac and blue and gold.

‘ _Kitagawa would complain about the colors…_ ’ he thought randomly. If Ren were in his right mind, maybe he’d question why the _hell_ he was thinking of Kitagawa. Especially while his head struggled to beat away the remaining effects of some drug they had too much fun pumping into his veins.

It had been an ugly little thing. The needle. A bronze tube with a thick, pointed mouth, and three holes at the other end for the injector to hold.

Ren had little secrets to spill, he believed, so the point of poking him was to just keep him asleep and unaware while they transferred him. Maybe it eased the pain that came with the blow to back of his head… or maybe he was too damn doped up to really _feel_ anything, and that there _was_ a bump the size of a globe poking out the back of his scalp.

He woke up in the room earlier, and that was when one of those people took the needle to his neck. Ren had fought them through the drowsiness that could not have taken its leave any slower. Now, he didn’t see that person.

Instead, there were two men. He did not recognize the one with the open kimono and tattoos. But the other…

“See? You worried for nothing, Iwai.” Konoe Akira said, looking back over his shoulder at the other man.

‘Iwai’ glowered and said nothing.

…Konoe was sitting in the chair across from Ren. It hadn’t registered when he first woke, but it was there, decorated with that same ugly color palette as the rest of the room.

“Sorry for how Natsume treated you back there,” Konoe’s fake care was paper-thin. “We’ll see to his punishment later.”

Ren pulled himself to sit up only to lurk forward when a wave of dizziness washed through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, hissing through his teeth as the room _pulsed_ like a quiet heartbeat. When he opened them, he let his gaze linger on the carpet. There was a lotus,

(the irony)

its purple petals traced in gold. It twirled around lazily, and Ren knew the drug had not completely worn off.

“Did you have a nice rest?”

He glared at the floor before shifting his gaze to Konoe.

“Come now, Amamiya, there’s no need to look at me that way. When I first saw you with Sojiro, you were much friendlier. A tiny, innocent little boy too fragile for the daimyo to leave on the side of the road where you belonged.”

‘Iwai’, who was leaning against the wall the entire time with little to contribute, finally spoke. “Quit fuckin’ with the kid’s head and just tell him what you want.”

Konoe paused, fake affection dripping from his face as he turned his head slightly. “What are you still doing here? I thought you were going to take care of the brat’s dog.”

“Your friend beat him like one.” Iwai spat. “You wouldn’t have known that if you weren’t drugging Sakura’s kid.”

“Do I have to remind you to hold your tongue?” Konoe returned, and Ren saw how his face twisted into disgusted anger. A vicious temper stormed underneath, but Iwai seemed unfazed. He must have been used to it.

“These are _kids_.”

“I know you have a soft spot for children, Iwai. You never fail to remind me…” he paused. “We should pay a visit to your hometown. Maybe after this is all over.”

Briefly, Ren saw the first crack. How Iwai’s hardened resolve slipped in the form of a quirked eyebrow, face untightening and folded arms dropping to his sides before curling into fists. If Ren were closer, he’d see how gritted his teeth were, how Iwai would want nothing more than to shove the words back in Konoe’s throat.

This man had someone to protect too.

“Do what you want,” Konoe aimlessly waved his hand. “Check back on the mutt downstairs.”

“He’s not an animal.”

It took Ren a moment to realize the words had been his own, spoken with a voice wound in what he could only deduce was anger. He had been foolish, but who else was Konoe referring to but Kitagawa? Ren had not spawned in Iwakura alone, and he hated how it took him so long to realize that he also had not seen Kitagawa either. Had it been hours since their capture? Days?

The rational side of his mind assured him it could not have been more than at least a day. Drugs were strong, but the dosage would have worn off before the ‘second day’ mark.

“Did you say something, Amamiya?”

“I said ‘he’s not an animal’.” Ren returned. “So shut the hell up.”

Someone made a noise of amusement in the back of their throat, and Ren was alarmed to see it had come from Iwai. On the other hand, Konoe looked _less_ delighted.

“How about you spend less time laughing and more time getting Kitagawa to talk?” Konoe shot over his shoulder. “ _Now_.”

Ren’s gaze locked with Iwai’s. ‘ _Don’t hurt him._ ’ He thought desperately, knowing the futility of directly transferring his own thoughts to someone else.

Iwai answered neither of them before he made way for the door. Shooting a frown at the back of Konoe’s head, he opened the door.

“A lesson, Amamiya,” Konoe breathed. His Riiben attire was a stark contrast to the room’s Teretian theme and Ren realized that he too looked out of place. “Surround yourself with allies you know you can trust. You have Hasegawa, the Sakura family, some friends in Akiyama… and then there’s Kitagawa Yusuke. Do you trust them?”

He bit his tongue to stop the retort from tumbling out. There was no reason to distrust his friends; Konoe was trying to manipulate him.

And it was Konoe who broke the awkward silence with a sigh. “I understand you have a lot of pressure on your shoulders. Taking up the daimyo mantle, and not only that, but groomed to be a slave to magic.”

‘ _I could give you a demonstration._ ’

But Ren did not bluff. He couldn’t; not when his back was against the wall.

“Did they ever teach you the history of magic in Riiben?” not waiting for an answer, Konoe continued. “It ran through this country. The Great Philemon, a God never seen by man, was said to drag the land from the sea. With the _Kusanagi no Tsurugi,_ he sculpted the four regions and mountains and rivers. Animals and wildlife prowled the earth before he gave birth to the first humans of Riiben.

“Mankind and society grew, aided by Philemon’s generosity. From the first clutch, a select few were given the ability to use magic. As thanks, they created shrines in his honor. How did the butterfly statues come to be? Well… One man, on the brink of death, believed he saw Philemon, who refused to let him cross into the afterlife. They say Philemon’s face was covered with a golden-winged butterfly. Others say he was unmasked and had red hair.

“Imagine it: A world built on dedication to an unseen being that may not even exist. Even when magic was stripped away from the people because of their selfishness, they still blindly followed him. They hope he will forgive them for the sins conducted by their ancestors and return their magic. The people avert their gaze when a daimyo cannot cast so much as a spark… and if there is no magic in the blood of the emperor? They will begrudgingly listen.”

Ren listened, half-disgusted with himself for the attention he was giving Konoe. He learned this from his mother and father – he _had_ to know this. It was his parents who believed it was a sin to use magic without knowing the gift of life Philemon presented the people.

He almost wanted to laugh. His whole life, dedicated to the man with the butterfly mask, and he couldn’t use a _flicker_ of magic.

“We don’t get to choose who can use magic and who can’t,” Konoe rose from his seat, stopping at the edge of the small table. His back was turned, head cocked slightly so he could gaze at the painted wall. “There are some people who don’t deserve to have its blessing. Like a campfire, if left unattended, it will grow into a monstrous flame until it consumes its user…”

Konoe turned and looked at him. “…I eagerly await the day Kitagawa’s ice freezes his weakened heart.”

Ren’s heart dropped into his stomach. Sweat gathered on the inside of his tightened fists and his mouth ran dry.

This man wanted blood.

“What do you know about Kitagawa?” Ren finally asked.

He hadn’t been expecting an answer.

“Everything,” Konoe said bluntly. “We met in his hometown, Ikuta. At first, I couldn’t feel his magic; there was something blocking it. The amount of willpower he must have had to suppress it was astounding… but I couldn’t forget the chaos he committed in the past.”

“Kitagawa was a child—”

“ _Kitagawa_ was not supposed to use magic. Riiben’s royal family should be the only ones with such a gift. That means the four provinces, not a poor village tucked somewhere in Yatategi.”

The pieces were clicking together tooth-by-tooth in his head. Ren flung himself to his feet then, gaze hardening. His heart, which he was sure his stomach had eaten, palpitated angrily, vibrating his ribs.

“You _killed_ them!” Ren snapped. “The people who didn’t fit your agenda for ‘magic’, you slaughtered like sheep!”

“You’re underestimating my generosity, Lord Amamiya,” Konoe chuckled. He towered over Ren. “Some were sent to Teret… but in return, I required their services. Those were people we could afford to lose, people no one would bat an eye if they went missing.”

“No life is expendable.”

“Stupid kid,” and Konoe snarled, sneer tearing his lips. It was as if a switch had been flipped. “You expect to lead a country against Teret with that attitude? Think like that and you may as well be walking into their capital unarmed.”

When Konoe gripped his arm, pressing into his skin that there were sure to leave bruises, Ren did not break eye contact. He discovered a newfound hatred for this man.

“You and Sakura made Kitagawa Yusuke important. Had he not been drafted as a personal bodyguard, I could’ve finished him off and no one would’ve blinked,” he twisted his arm then, and Ren bit down on his lip to stop from crying out. “But your family had to interfere. You gave him purpose.”

“What now? Will you kill me too?” Ren challenged coolly.

Konoe scoffed, but that horrible sneer stretched.

It didn’t feel right. Something was wrong, and Ren knew Konoe had purposefully withheld information.

“I won’t need to. When you see your retainer, you’ll wish you’d done it yourself… out of shame for failing to protect your guard dog.”

The words were ice, pricking him with their frigid claws. They stung more than Konoe’s nails and iron grip. His earlier bravado was slowly, _slowly,_ weening away from his fingertips.

“What did you do?” he demanded, barely above a whisper.

“When someone pretends to be a samurai, their punishment is death. Natsume, however, had other plans,” Konoe had the audacity to _smirk_. “We realized it is easier to break a broken soul than it is to try and break a healthy one. And we will continue to do so until there’s nothing left.”

Ren leaned closer and spat in his face.

There was a pause. A horrible, apprehensive pause as Ren’s actions began to catch up to him. Konoe calmly swiped at the spit sliding into the creases of his pinched face.

He heard the slap before he felt it. But oh, he _felt_ it. He felt Konoe’s backhand cracking against his left cheek. It rattled his teeth and split his lip. The impact sent him into the arm of the sofa, which made sure to jab sharply into the small of his back. This time, he could not hold back an exclaim.

Konoe’s foot smashed against the side of his head, pinning him in place. “Filthy street rat…” he hissed, punctuating his words with a pressured step. “You and your _kind_ should’ve _stayed_! _Dead_! We should’ve made sure to bury you so deep that your nails would split if you tried to crawl back out! You don’t _deserve_ to breathe Riiben’s air or live among its people! And a brat like _you_! Doesn’t deserve to sit with the Iwakura daimyo!”

Ren was given brief respite when the foot left his head only to drive into his stomach. He coughed, gagging on choked breaths when it struck higher, digging under his ribs. His lip burned when he ran his tongue over it, the coppery taste like acid in his mouth.

“Thieves, rogues, brigands… You’re all from the same cloth. When we’re done with you and Kitagawa, we’ll put down everyone else!”

Agony thrummed in his chest, back, and stomach; it pulsed through his cheek and head. And yet… He rested on his forearms, glared at Konoe and gritted his teeth until he thought they’d break. Briefly, he thought he saw doubt, a hesitance of sort, flicker in Konoe’s eyes. As if he’d been intimidated by this act of defiance.

And… deeper down, he felt _something_ respond to Konoe’s potential discomfort.

It encouraged him to fling another retort. Just one more.

“We’re too ‘important’… for you to kill, remember?” he chuckled lightly before it stung his chest. He winced. “But no one will notice when _you_ disappear.”

Konoe leered then. “You shouldn’t underestimate Ne no Kuni’s cognition, Amamiya…”

Loud knocking came from the other side of the door. Ren glimpsed the annoyance on Konoe’s face before he crossed the room. From his position on the floor, he couldn’t see who it was, but it didn’t matter. All he needed was to _hear_.

“It’s… Kitagawa!” Natsume said, breaths punctured. “ _Where_ is Iwai?!”

‘ _…Kitagawa? Iwai_?’ his mind echoed.

Whatever else was said was lost on him. Ren saw Natsume and Konoe standing over him the next instant. The silver contraption, the _needle,_ glinted in Natsume's grasp.

Renewed vigor jolted him to action, but Konoe already had him pinned with a knee to his already-sore back. He screamed at them, spat insults until he felt the sharp prick and pressure against his neck. The names and curses slurred as the drug sped through his system, rendering them to slosh.

“When this is all over, you’ll thank me, Amamiya,” Konoe muttered. “Everything I’ve done has been for the future of Riiben. Always.”

The metal of his prison creaked softly, stopped, and then creaked again, as if someone were trying to enter without alerting him. There was the faint smell of miso soup wafting in the air, and his stomach responded by twisting harshly. It wasn’t until the intruder stepped closer did he realize something was off.

He hadn’t known Iwai for an hour, but Yusuke knew this person walked heavier. And if they were really delivering food, there was a compartment at the base of the door. They had no reason walking _into_ his cell.

A light _tapping_ noise was made when the bowl was set down. Though he was starving, he felt a stronger reluctance to eat it when it was nudged closer to his face. ‘ _It’s drugged,_ ’ was his first thought.

His thoughts were shaken out of him when the intruder threw him on his back. The medicine Iwai spread across his wounds made him slip against the floor easier as he was dragged by his ankle. It burned, ripping open injuries so they could swallow the dirt and taste the stone flooring.

Yusuke shouted painfully only for a hand to slap atop his mouth, muffling his voice. His kimono, which hadn’t been replaced after the whipping, slipped down his shoulders, and the cold air viciously attacked his exposed skin.

“Eat.” The man directed. Yusuke didn’t recognize him, and he was struck with a horrible realization that there were more Shadows than he’d anticipated.

The rim of the bowl was as cold as steel against his lips. It tilted closer and closer until its contents slithered down the sides of his mouth to his neck. He tasted the salt and underneath that was something smoother… almost _slimy_.

He spat. The lukewarm soup spewed from his mouth and nose when he choked on it. Yusuke gagged, hoping to expel whatever may have slithered down his throat, and then Betro’s hands were around his neck. The bowl tripped over its own lip as it was jostled to the side.

Yusuke clawed at his grip, thrashing beneath him while his back tore open his lashes and burns.

There was a moment where his head was lifted off the ground by his throat before he was slammed back down into the cobble. Again. And again.

“Fucking kid! You know how expensive that was!”

(something told him it was not the ‘soup’)

_Help me…! Someone…!_

“Stop…!” the word caught on his teeth, and stars blared across his blurred, fading vision.

Then, it did. It _did_ stop. The hands left his bruised neck and if it didn’t feel like his head was going to split open, he would’ve laughed in relief. And even then, he may not have. He couldn’t find anything funny about this except how pathetic he must look.

Yusuke was still chasing stars when Betro’s hand grasped his face. He reached for it with his own, nails scraping at sandpaper-dry skin. From the space between his fingers, Yusuke could see his face. The yellow eyes. The dark hair beginning to silver from age. Betro was human, but he was not.

“I saw it then,” Betro started. “How close you and your Lord were when Nastume found you at the shrine.”

Confusion was quickly replaced with horror when Betro forced himself between his legs. He pushed at him, tightened his fists into the man’s shoulders. “ _Get off me!!_ ” his protest collapsed, molding into a sharp inhale when Betro rutted against him. And through their layers of clothing, Yusuke felt it.

Tears pricked his eyes, and the noise he made was trapped between a sob and a gasp. He was stuck. Stuck between enduring it and wanting to die.

“Did Amamiya do this?” he breathed against his neck. “Is this how he paid you?”

His traitorous body was beginning to respond with every brush, and it made Yusuke hate himself even more.

When his lips brushed his neck, the hand on Yusuke’s face loosened its hold.

He didn’t think as he wrenched it closer to his mouth, Betro’s pinkie sliding between his teeth. And he bit down.

There was a noise then, a howl of agony sung by a man who could _feel_ his finger crumbling halfway from his knuckle.

Blood clogged his senses.

He bit harder.

Something landed on his tongue. Something fleshy, small, but firm.

Yusuke tossed his head to the side and spat the fingertip out. He glimpsed Betro wailing as he stumbled off him—

—and Iwai slammed his face against the stone.

 _Crunch_.

“You—”

Iwai’s foot slammed into the side of his face. Using one hand that now had half of its little finger missing, Betro covered the bloody, crooked stump that was his nose. His body shook with sobs and agonized wheezing. He scrambled along the floor like a prison rat towards the parted door. A squeal burst from his mouth as he was dragged to his feet and pinned to the wall.

“You’re not going to lay a fucking hand on him again,” Iwai said lowly, fury thrumming under the words. “Or I’ll break more than your limbs and we can shove whatever’s left down your filthy mouth.”

Betro whimpered and Iwai’s fist crashed into his cheek.

He shook him. “What did I just say?”

“Nuh-Not to tuh-tuh-touch him!”

He punched him a second time. “What else?”

“Yuh-You’ll break ‘em!” he sobbed. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Betro landed with an “ooph!” and Iwai made sure to dig his toe into his gut with a parting kick. “Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind.”

Yusuke had remained still the entire ordeal. Not that he _wanted_ to, but he found he couldn’t move. His breathing was short and labored, unable to shake the horrible feeling of being violated from his mind. If Iwai hadn’t arrived, Betro could’ve done worse… _much_ worse, and the thought alone shot bile up into his throat. He turned to swallow against a sudden heave.

Lying next to him was the fleshy, bloody stump of Betro’s finger.

Vomit expelled past his lips. He retched, choking when he tried to breathe while acid singed his tongue and burned his mouth with the taste of Betro’s blood. His back screeched in pain and the tears shot back to life in his eyes.

When it was over, he kept his head to the side, mindful of the small puddle of translucent fluid. He chewed on the inside of his lip, grimacing at the aftertaste of bile.

Iwai touched his shoulder, and Yusuke would’ve bitten him too if he hadn’t been saved. He held his breath, fighting at the sobs that beat against the inside of his chest. The torn folds of his kimono were pulled to cover whatever bare skin had been visible.

Natsume was right: He wasn’t a samurai. A true warrior would have been able to fight back without a sword; he wouldn’t have let a lashed and burned back deter him. Yusuke, on the other hand, did. He was at the mercy of these terrible monsters who wore human skin as their disguise.

Even if some had been Shadows.

But Betro had felt _real_. If he was a Shadow, Yusuke had been right to assume he’d been different.

Something wet slid across the bridge of his nose, trailing to the hollow of his ear. He shrugged his shoulder angrily at the tear.

Earlier, he had sworn it: That he would have wanted Betro to go after him if it would stop him from going near Amamiya. He just hadn’t anticipated so soon, and now he wondered if his earlier bravado was just hot air and nothing more.

“Where did he go?” Yusuke asked vapidly.

Iwai scoffed. “Hell if I care… Whatever he says, I’ll set things straight. They won’t believe him and he’ll stay far away from you.”

“I’m…” he swallowed then grimaced at the aftertaste of bile still clinging to his tongue. “I’m not worried… about myself. I only ask he’s kept away from Amamiya.”

“Stop worrying about him.” Iwai snapped. “They’d be stupid to harm the daimyo’s kid.”

“They have shown no limits with their torment…” Yusuke muttered bitterly. He rolled onto his stomach then, Iwai’s hand slipping from his shoulder. “My life may not be as important as Amamiya’s, but with that… horrible monster working for them… then what makes Amamiya off limits?”

“Quit talking down on yourself. You may be his retainer, but that doesn’t make your life any less significant.”

“I’m supposed to protect him…”

“Your problem is you don’t give a damn about your own life. My advice? Don’t put your self-worth into someone else – whether you’re supposed to protect them or not. A life has no meaning if you wield it carelessly.” Iwai paused then, eyes sliding to the discarded bowl. “Did you eat any of that? No telling what the hell he put in it.”

Yusuke shook his head, mind still racing to Iwai’s previous words. He couldn’t recall a time where Amamiya made him feel worthless. When he served Amamiya, he did it of his own accord and never begrudgingly.

The last time he had seen Amamiya, he had been worried, calling out his name when the arrow buried itself into his shoulder. But before that, there was anger.

No.

Betrayal.

Yusuke lied to him; Amamiya responded in kind.

“Natsume is not the same man as he once was…” Yusuke said, hoping Iwai was listening. “I’m afraid they will harm Amamiya. Please… Get him home. Leave me if you must, but he doesn’t belong here.”

Silence breathed between them before it was broken by Iwai’s soft sigh. “Neither do you…” thankfully, he stood, obliging Yusuke’s request (he wanted to think). “There’s not much I can do either. But I can try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

The cell door closed; Yusuke did not hear the lock this time. As Iwai turned, Yusuke said, “Thank you. For stopping him.”

For a moment, he thought Iwai hadn’t heard him. Until slowly, he nodded. “Don’t lay on your back.”

He needn’t be told. Once Iwai left, Yusuke dragged himself to the furthest wall from the entrance. From here, he could glimpse the elbow of the hallway, but he wouldn’t allow himself rest.

‘ _Where were you?_ ’ he thought absently, fist curling against the hard ground. But he knew the answer, and he gave his magic reason to disobey him every time he had brought that poison liquid to his lips.

Somehow, they managed to restrain him to the table while he’d been asleep.

He was hunched over, hands useless behind his back with the tabletop grazing his head. His legs were stretched out before him and unbound. Discomfort crammed itself into his body.

When he looked up, the room _trembled._

Ren glimpsed Iwakura’s throne room. He saw where Sojiro would sit when an audience was present, and he saw his own seat. The painted walls blinked to paper, rug fading to tatami mats… and it was gone before Ren could have the chance to miss it.

But he had. He missed Iwakura. In his mind, he knew this wasn’t Teret, but it was the closest he’d been to the West… and he wanted it to be the last.

“It’s cognition, Amamiya,” Konoe explained. “and it’s weak.”

His tongue was heavy from the remaining effects of the drug, so he did not speak. He looked closer at Konoe, who stood opposite him. There was a katana strapped to his hip.

‘ _That’s new…_ ’ Ren thought dully.

“Kitagawa caused some trouble for one of Natsume’s friends.”

 _Good_. And maybe he had said that aloud, for the look Konoe gave him was of mild astonishment.

His voice, however, betrayed none of that shock. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw just _what_ he’d done. However…” he sauntered around the table, and Ren’s neck ached when he tried to look back at him. He could only see his leg and the proud sword that snuggled against the loose hakama. “…I didn’t approve of Betro’s methods. You can rest easy knowing that his vile behavior will not go unpunished. We wanted to treat our guests with _some_ respect.”

 _‘By drugging them?_ _By… whatever the hell you were doing to Kitagawa? Wherever he is…_ ’

“A shame he went against my orders…” Konoe sighed, tapping something hard against the tabletop. It sounded heavy. It sounded like steel. “He was a very helpful man, but now I’m left to wonder just how many poor people he may have terrorized here in Iwakura.”

Ren’s gaze fled to the door with its mahogany wood and intricate floral designs. ‘ _Open it. Someone please_ open it _.’_ – anything to interrupt another one-on-one session with Konoe. “He better not have hurt anyone.” Ren murmured, hoping his words would stall.

“You have nothing to fear, Amamiya. The masses can’t think for themselves when in Ne no Kuni. Think of it like a deep sleep. When it is all over, they’ll wake up as if from a pleasant dream… or a not-so-pleasant one.”

‘ _Ne no Kuni?_ _Is that what he meant by “cognition”?_ ’

“Whatever injury they may have suffered will not carry into the real world…” and he heard Konoe kneel behind him. His voice almost hit the back of Ren’s neck. “But if the cognition is weak, then there’s no telling what will stay permanent and what will be temporary.”

The drug continued to cling to his brain stubbornly. Squeezing his eyes shut, he stared into the backdrop of closed eyelids. The warm, yellow light of the room poked through. He had to think, to _concentrate._ Konoe liked to hear his own voice, but something told him it was different than Natsume.

First things first:

“Where are you keeping Kitagawa?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because he’s…” _my bodyguard?_ It sounded callous, _terribly_ callous, but the word ‘friend’ refused to fit. A ‘liar’ fit better. That evening in Koya, he thought they both laid _everything_ out for one another. When he asked if Kitagawa could use magic, he was lied to. The one thing he believed that tied them together was cut away by the image of Kitagawa’s fox mask.

His eyes had been sad then.

A small part of him had wished for Kitagawa to pay for that lie. But that ‘wish’ did not come in the form of an arrow piercing Kitagawa’s shoulder, nor whatever the hell they were doing to him in this cognitive Iwakura.

Ren wanted to make Kitagawa pay _himself –_ not through someone else’s cruelty. If that meant Ren purposefully ignoring him and reverting to formalities or leaving him to guard a shrine for a night, he’d have done it.

He could almost laugh at the horrible irony. Earlier, he thought Natsume a child… but how was he any different?

“If you can’t answer that, then I can’t tell you,” Konoe said, and he almost sounded _disappointed_. “Samurai are paid to guard their lord until their last breath. If a lord were to die before then… well, I’m sure you know that. Much as I loathe Kitagawa, he is loyal. He would die for you just as he would have died for me and Natsume.”

Ren said nothing.

He couldn’t.

“Then again,” and Ren jumped when Konoe squeezed his bound, left wrist. “what is a samurai to a thief? And what samurai bites the finger off his tormentor?”

His blood chilled. It was as if Kitagawa’s “Persona” breathed its ice on him instead of those Shadows. “What…?” he cleared his throat. “What did you say?”

“Natsume’s friend went to feed Kitagawa and came back with a broken nose and half a finger.”

‘ _His friend probably deserved it_!’ he would have spat, if Konoe had not continued speaking.

“In the capital, we were often tasked with killing brigands and thieves. Sometimes, if we could only catch one, there would be punishments that would stop them from stealing ever again. The yakuza had a similar method for disobedience… Are you familiar with yubitsume, Amamiya?”

Ren started forward then, fighting back against the drug and thrashing in his restraints. His feet kicked forward futilely and squeezed his hands into fists. “Don’t touch me!” he warned, voice hissing out as a whisper instead of a demand. Panic twisted his words.

“Open your hand.”

The cold point of the dagger nipped the heel of his palm. He shook his head stubbornly, not noticing how the motion nudged the blade and split his skin. “Konoe, don’t do this—”

Steel bit his knuckles, brushing against his lower back. Right over the puckered scar left by that stray Shadow in Ne no Kuni.

“I can take one, or I can take all of them.”

All he needed was a shallow cut across his curled hand to know Konoe wasn’t bluffing. His breath began to saw in and out of him. He fought back the cry that bubbled in his throat and beat against the backs of his teeth.

‘ _You deserve this,_ ’ Ren thought again and again as he loosened his fist. The tears were beginning to fill his eyes, but he couldn’t let them fall. Not in front of Konoe. ‘ _You deserve this, you deserve this. You wanted Kitagawa to suffer for a petty lie, and now you’re getting exactly what you_ fucking _deserve—_ ’

It took him longer than it should have to realize the screams had been his.

The blade seesawed on his finger, chewing away at skin, grinding its teeth through stringy tendon, gnawing on and through bone. Warm wetness sputtered from the laceration.

When it gave way, he still cried, head smacking back against the knee of the table. He gagged on his own sobs, teeth crushing his lower lip just to _stop fucking crying_.

It didn’t hurt. It tore him apart.

And the dagger moved. Not away, but to his right hand this time. It hovered against his pinkie as a warning.

“Stop!” he protested as the reality of it all crashed into him. His weak struggling did him as much help as a fish flopping on dry land. Blackness began to cut the corners of his vision, and he wanted to jam his four-fingered hand into _something_ again and again until he couldn’t feel anything.

“I should’ve had Iwai do this,” Konoe mused. “Yubitsume was the _smallest_ finger, no? Apologies, Amamiya. I seem to have gotten the wrong one.”

Ren didn’t unclench his right hand as easily. Not when the blade licked sharp lines down his knuckles and palm. “Konoe… _please_ —”

“We punish thieves so they know not to steal again… and not to lie again.”

He refused to open his hand this time.

When it was over, it didn’t matter _how_ he presented his hand.

Two bleeding, red stumps where his left ring finger and right pinkie finger should have been. He had curled up on the carpet, bringing his hands to his chest and squeezing himself and his hands tighter and tighter until it felt he would burst. If he had in that moment, he wouldn’t have cared.

Konoe’s back was turned to him, fingers – _Ren’s_ fingers – in his hand. “You can blame Kitagawa,” Konoe said as if he were discussing weather. “Had he not bitten off Betro’s, I may not have taken yours. An eye for an eye, no?”

Ren’s body wracked with sobs, and he fought back against their need to be heard. He didn’t want to look at his hands. Konoe had been _kind_ enough to cauterize them with heated metal. To be exact: the very dagger he used to cut them away with.

Where he got the flame?

Ren could _say_ he didn’t care, but the truth was he couldn’t remember anything beyond the agony, beyond the screaming as the metal was held and pressed against lopped fingers.

Beyond the _helplessness_ that froze his body when his hand was being maimed by Konoe's unforgiving knife.

“When this is over, you’ll kneel before Iwakura and apologize for lying to them. For letting them believe you were their savior and giving them false hope.” Konoe glowered. “I told you before, Amamiya: you’re a street rat who’s played the Sakura-role far longer than he should have.”

Konoe lifted him by his hair, and Ren caught himself on his bleeding hands. “Your real mother and father died in that massacre. You have no family.”

Nothing stung more than the anguish he had felt minutes earlier, but these words wielded their own special blade.

_You’re alone. And if Zenkichi wasn’t a family friend, he would’ve dropped you too._

“You had a choice, Amamiya,” Konoe dropped Ren against the carpet before making way for the door. “You should’ve stayed on the other side of the river – far away from Iwakura. This whole time, you could’ve been _home_.”

“I am home.” Ren said firmly, and through the fires of agony prickling his skin and eating at the stumps of his hand, he glared.

Konoe looked at him as if he were no better than the dirt beneath his shoes. He could’ve marched over to Ren and broken his hand against his face right then and there…

…Quietly, he exited the room.

His breath crumbled out of him when the door clicked shut. Biting his lip, he twisted his damaged hands into the folds of his top. He wound them until they were choked by fabric. It stung, the pain prodding at his mind the same way the drug did, but it was all he could do.

When he at last let go, the silk came away red. Sakura petals on snow.

Still fresh.

The iron was ice beneath his clammy palms. It was sturdy and the door parted just slightly with a forceful shove. His legs shook, but it was his damned back that pleaded for him to lay down. Yusuke had been doing such a great job listening to what his body wanted, so what reason did he have to start obeying it now?

He used the bars of his cell as a crutch, ‘climbing’ from cell to cell until he could see the stairs. The torches that clung to the wall cast splotches of light on the cobble. As quiet as Yusuke was trying to be, he couldn’t still his labored breathing. In the emptiness of the dungeon, every step was unbearably loud.

When he heard the rumbling of people upstairs, he stilled.

Fortune must have granted him some relief, for no one came charging down the steps. If they saw him, would they kill him? Or would they humiliate him some more?

As long as it wasn’t Betro, Yusuke could handle them…

…he thought.

When he reached the base of the stairs, he pulled one of the torches from its metal sconce. The flame beat at the air weakly, and he ground it into the stones until a thin wisp of smoke slithered from the blackened wood. He bounced it in his hand, testing the weight.

It was not his usual choice of weapon, but it would have to do. He pondered how many blows he could land before the pain caught up to him. Then he realized he may not even have the chance to maneuver his body the way he would usually in battle.

Yusuke knew it was all foolish, and he placed one foot on the first step before someone hustled to the door.

‘ _Already_ …?!’

He folded back against the wall, trying to squeeze into what little the shadows offered him.

When the person descended the steps, he heard _two._ Two people.

The despair of his situation delayed his movement. If he hadn’t let the doubt deter him, he would’ve struck with the torch.

One of them wore a red cheongsam with silver trimming. The open window to the person’s cleavage was a different take on the traditional style, even though unfitting… or maybe not. The skirt was slit to the edges of their thighs, and around their legs were red, over-the-knee socks. A mix of Teret’s fashion with one of Riiben’s neighboring countries. The bizarre cat tail – red too, he noticed – clung to the zipper at their lower back. When they turned, he noticed the red panther mask clinging to their face.

Their partner wore a black dou over his long-sleeved gray shirt. The kusazuri was a faded gray that seemed kissed by the brutality of the sea one too many times. Silver pads sat atop the kneecaps of his dark pants, and his feet were buried in gray boots. A red ascot was tied loosely around their neck. Along with their bleached hair, it was the only popping color on their body. Their brown eyes stared from behind the skull mask.

Clinging to their waist was a katana and wakizashi set, and Yusuke realized they weren’t really on the belt, but loosely tied.

“Kitagawa?”

He swung.

The torch splintered as it struck the side of the skull-faced man’s leg. He exclaimed, falling on his side. Throwing out a hand, he shouted, “Wait- Wait! It’s me!”

Sakamoto Ryuji removed his mask.

“What did they do to you?” his partner gasped. The platinum blonde hair and cyan eyes… there was no one else he saw in Riiben that looked like Takamaki Ann.

Relief struck him, tingling down his body in a sudden jolt. Yusuke didn’t realize the torch clattered from his grasp until he let his legs give out from under him. Yusuke caught himself on his hand, but Sakamoto had grabbed him around the arm to steady him.

“It’s you…!” he choked. Though he was hunched over, the faint taste of hope these two provided him bit back at the searing pain from his wounds. He would be allowed a brief respite, they seemed to say, just this once.

“Yeah… Long story and we don’t have time, but,” Sakamoto broke off with a curse. “Can you walk?”

Yusuke shook his head. “Barely.”

Maybe he _did_ drink some of that soup, and he was just hallucinating. Something was going to snap him out of it.

Warm, green light blossomed around Takamaki’s hands. She knelt beside them, steadying hands over his back. Thin tendrils weaved to life from her fingertips, touching his skin and mending the skin carefully.

Yusuke sighed as the harsher pains went away, until all that was left was a stubborn itch. He felt this before, he realized, when he hurt himself. Natsume healed him too, but his magic paled to Takamaki’s.

“I can’t heal all of it,” Takamaki said quietly. “It’s like… he was hurt both in and outside the cognition.”

Sakamoto’s face pinched in confusion. “In-and-out of cognition?”

“Never mind that for now,” she shook her head, pushing herself to her feet. “Come on. Futaba said it wasn’t far from here.”

“…Futaba?” Yusuke echoed, but he found Takamaki was right. Though his back was mended, he could almost _feel_ the remaining scars. Could scars hurt…?

Sakamoto helped him to his feet. Tugging the katana loose, he held it out for Yusuke. “You might need this.”

The blade was slim and heavier than the torch, but for all its dangers, Yusuke felt safer

(“ _You are not a samurai._ ”)

as he gripped it in his left hand.

“Where to?”

“Show me.” The command was gentle, unfitting to Iwai’s rough face and the anger that grumbled quietly in his eyes. His grip was soft, and he trailed his thumb over Ren’s knuckles, avoiding the reddened stumps.

He watched numbly, looking from Iwai then to his broken hands. His earlier days had been spent in Minochi, plucking flowers for shrine offerings. When his parents were taken from him, then he used those same hands to steal. It was a necessity to survive, but there was an _art_ to it too. A part of Ren came to enjoy playing the role as a thief.

How well could he steal now, he did not know.

When Iwai tugged him to his feet, half-dragging him to the door, the panic lit anew. “What’re you doing…?!”

They were at the mahogany door when Iwai spun around. “Keep your mouth shut and follow closely. I don’t want any more trouble.”

Ren had little choice with how tightly his wrist was being held. The door parted to reveal an elaborate, Teretian hallway. Tall, stained glass windows and an extravagant chandelier with crystals that captured the light, and a red rug that stretched from one end of the hallway to the other…

…on that rug, he counted at least four unconscious bodies.

“Where’s your room?” Iwai demanded, and for a moment, he unhanded him, digging through one of his sleeves.

“My room?” He blinked, staring hard at one of the ends of the hallways. Was he expected to find his room in _this?_ And why _there_ of all places?

The sound of ripping paper hissed among the silence, and he looked over to see Iwai holding two pieces of a hanafuda card. Their surroundings began to dip in and out of the Teretian hallway and into the familiar one of Iwakura. Some spots remained unchanged, looking horribly out of place among the paper walls and wooden floorboards.

But he could map out the interior. He _knew_ this.

“Follow me,” he said over his shoulder.

They hurried with quick steps, touching the wooden floor or the cognition’s marble one. It was horribly disorientating, but whatever spell had been cast with the hanafuda card, Iwai had broken it long enough for them to locate his room.

He passed Kitagawa’s guest room, then Futaba’s…

Then he stopped.

The double-doors of the garden was replaced with a large tori gate. Beyond its yawning entrance was not the Iwakura garden he’d spent most of his afternoons and evenings in.

Dark green shrubbery and towering trees with black bark stared back at him. Small paper lanterns bracketed the dirt path cut out before them. Looking closer, he realized not all of it _was_ Ne no Kuni. In some places there was what seemed to be parts of a building poking through the soil. In others, he found the koi pond now entirely devoid of the fish with blazing, orange-red scales.

The most jarring thing was the statue of Natsume standing in the middle.

When Ren looked to Iwai for confirmation of… _anything_ , he was met with a shrug. “Didn’t put a single coin into it.”

He glanced at the statue. Dim gold covered every surface of its body; it was a beacon in the chaotic garden. “It would’ve been a wasteful investment.”

His room was waiting for them patiently, untouched from cognition. The door was still the same, and when he entered, he nearly fell to his knees in relief.

Ren saw the chabudai, the storage chest by the window, and his rolled-up futon pushed against the further wall. Once, Ann made a passing comment on how empty and barren his room was. Ren shrugged her ideas of decorating, emphasizing how he was never in Iwakura that often. Now, if given the chance to redo it, he would have taken her up on that offer.

“Will we be safe here?” he asked.

But it was not Iwai who answered.

“They can’t find you if the cognition is weak,” something short and black with a large head approached him from the side. There was a string bag with an ornate pattern tied around its waist. “This is probably the safest place in the entire Fortress.”

Ren’s heart skipped a beat. “Who…?”

“Hrmph… Have you forgotten already?” it chided, large blue eyes narrowing in faux disappointment. But the expression softened, falling to Ren’s hands.

When he realized what was being stared at, he hastily folded his arms. ‘ _Is this going to be a thing now?_ ’ he thought bitterly, finding the tatami mat far more interesting than this creature’s face.

“It’s me,” and it hopped onto the chabudai, giving him a little boost in height. “Morgana.”

“Morgana?” Ren echoed, and his arms fell to his side.

“Please, take a seat. I’ve got some explaining to do,” he cocked his head at Iwai. “Him too. If it weren’t for this guy, we may not have gotten through at all. Oh, and show me your hands while you’re at it.”

He didn’t ask how or why Iwai knew Morgana, but he did as told. It was still difficult to look at them. And no matter how powerful Morgana’s magic supposedly was… “…You can’t heal it.” he muttered dejectedly.

And yet, the sigh that eased past his lips was quiet and relaxed. Tension bled out of him as turquoise-green light held his hands gently. It massaged him with its invisible touch. He wouldn’t have been surprised if his fingers magically grew back.

Though they did not.

“I’m sorry, Ren,” he apologized, genuine. “Can you at least move them a little?”

He did, to demonstrate that Morgana’s actions were not entirely in vain as he’d thought. Four fingers on each hand and a little stump that shuddered with them. Disgusting.

Not wanting the subject to remain, he said, “What’s with you two?”

“It all came down to luck,” Morgana started, and Ren noticed how Iwai hadn’t sat down with them. He was leaning against the wall, watching Morgana. “I sensed a disruption when your Iwakura merged with our Ne no Kuni. When I tried taking the shrine to your garden, something was blocking me. If I hadn’t found one of your friends in a different part of Ne no Kuni, there’s no telling what would’ve happened.”

‘ _My friends…?_ ’

Then, it hit him. He remembered it. He remembered how Zenkichi urged him to take them to Iwakura instead of scolding Kitagawa. When he came to in Iwakura, Zenkichi was nowhere in sight.

“He told me how you guys were separated, so we did some adventuring in Ne no Kuni and eventually reached out to Lady Ann and Ryuji using Akiyama’s Ne no Kuni gate. I guided them back to Iwakura using Zenkichi’s hanafuda card, but we realized it was going to take more than one card to break through. We were able to get Futaba’s help with her Persona… or at least enough to map out the cognitive Iwakura and see which parts were weaker. Whatever was blocking us out was too strong even for her. So for now, it’s just the four of us,” and then, he nodded at Iwai in approval. “Well, this guy too. He’s partially responsible for why we were able to get in much sooner.”

Iwai held out the ripped hanafuda card. “You mean these?” when Ren took them from him, he continued. “Konoe has ‘em hidden throughout the Iwakura palace. They seem to function as some sort of energy vat.”

“It’s because the Fortress isn’t _just_ Konoe Akira’s,” Morgana said. “It’s a ‘conjoined’ Fortress, meaning the desires of one ruler are clashing with the other. Therefore, they needed small pockets of energy to keep it from completely collapsing. But it’s why your garden looks like _that_.” He paused. “You saw, didn’t you?”

Ren nodded. Questions began piling inside his mind, but he held his tongue. Morgana seemed to leave no stones unturned.

“Back to the hanafuda cards…” he directed a tiny paw at Iwai. “ _He_ destroyed his own, and that’s when we saw a _flicker_ in the cognition. I was able to get through first.”

Confusion pricked him. “Why did you do that?”

Iwai hesitated. “May have done Konoe’s dirty work, but even I know where to draw my lines. The shit Natsume was doing to your friend wasn’t pretty,” he sighed, swiping a hand down his face, and Ren realized how _tired_ he looked. “You’re both completely stupid to be this careless with your trust. What’s stopping me from turning you in to Konoe?”

“You wouldn’t do that because you’d be in trouble too.” Morgana pointed out.

“Hm. Maybe you’re right…” and he said no more.

“Anyway, I spent most of my time destroying whatever cards I could find while Iwai went back and forth between you and Yusuke. Eventually I was able to hear Futaba, and the rest of us were able to get in. Our new problem is finding a way back out.”

Ren didn’t understand. “You guys came through the garden, didn’t you?”

“You’re pretty quick,” he mused. “We did, but in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a giant, ugly statue right in the middle. If we destroy it, then maybe we can get through. But there’s a chance that even if we _do_ manage to bring it down, the exit may be somewhere else.”

A sudden knock on the door startled them from their conversation. Ren sprung to his feet and Iwai pressed against the adjacent wall.

The door slid open.

“Wait, wait, it’s them!” Morgana called.

Zenkichi was in the same garb from when Ren last saw him. He had raised his arms up in defense when Iwai nearly threw himself into action. They spared only a glance before he noticed Ren.

“Damn brat…” he whispered, and before Ren could move, Zenkichi was crushing him into an embrace. The cross belt around his torso pressed into Ren’s cheek, and he could hear how out of breath Zenkichi sounded.

He hadn’t the time to return the hug when Zenkichi let go, hands still on his arms.

“We thought you— What happened…?” but the questions were swiftly answered when he noticed his hands. When he took them in his own, they didn’t sting from pain. Morgana had reason to flaunt his magic the way he had. “Which one?”

“Konoe.”

Zenkichi cursed. “Damn him… I thought he was above this, but—”

“Ren!”

He knew her by pale twintails and blue eyes. The panther mask pressed into his shoulder when she hugged him. Ryuji was behind, and though he shot Ren a grin, the mirth quickly left his face. The second thing he noticed was their garb and how different it was when he last saw them dressed in formal wear… well, Ryuji’s definition of ‘formal’ had been somewhat stretched.

“It’s been a while,” Ryuji said as Ann let go of him.

Ren nodded. “It has.”

He looked back over his shoulder suddenly. “Hey, you getting in on the group hug or not?”

And though he hadn’t seen him, Ren knew exactly who Ryuji was talking to.

If it wasn’t for his face, Ren wouldn’t have recognized him.

Kitagawa’s top was torn, the neckline plunging down to his chest. His shoulders were painted a faint red from burns. Then there was his hair. The long, tumbling blue always pulled in a top knot was now short and uneven. Some locks kissed the ends of his ears while the others stopped at his jawline.

He looked terrible.

“Amamiya,” he said softly. Kitagawa did not hug him like Zenkichi, but the guilt and regret in his eyes told Ren enough. “They hurt you.”

“You too,” he returned quietly, and he buried his fingers into his sleeves. This was going to be a new habit, he mused bitterly.

‘ _I wanted Kitagawa to pay for lying_ ,’ he thought. ‘ _Not like this._ ’

Ren didn’t deserve to look at him. So he didn’t.

“I hate to break this up,” Morgana said, and he had the decency to sound apologetic. “but we may not have a whole lot of time left… assuming you guys destroyed all the cards you could find. We’ll destroy the statue and hurry back to Minochi.”

“Hold on,” Ryuji quipped. “You mean we ain’t gonna go after the bastard?”

“And do _what?”_

“I don’t know— get him to turn Iwakura back? We’re not just gonna leave it like it is, are we? After what that bastard did to them?”

Ann placed her hand on his shoulder, giving a firm shake of her head.

“You’re really underestimating how strong this Fortress is,” Morgana snapped. “If we have any hope of winning, we’ll need the remaining sacred treasure. Then we can come back.”

“Yeah, but—”

“We’re not letting them go unpunished,” Zenkichi interrupted calmly. “As long as people like Natsume and Konoe have access to Ne no Kuni, we risk this happening again. We’ll have them escorted to Tocho and the emperor can decide on their punishment.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to kill them?”

The room went quiet at Iwai’s suggestion, and he had an expression of indifference on his face. Ren looked over at Kitagawa, who sat cross-legged and frowned at the chabudai.

‘ _What the hell did they do to him?_ ’

“No,” Zenkichi said. “We don’t kill people.”

“Except it’s our first time doing something like… _this_ ,” Ann chipped in, twirling the end of one of her twintails around her finger. “What if we make a mistake?”

“That won’t happen because _I’m_ here.” Morgana assured.

Ryuji was less convinced. “You haven’t done this either!”

“It’s safe to assume that we’ve all killed before,” Kitagawa said suddenly. “Konoe Akira thinks himself an important figurehead in Riiben. But has it occurred to anyone how few of his allies have been at the palace?”

“You said most of the guys were with Natsume, didn’t you?” Ann asked.

Something painful flashed in Kitagawa’s eyes, disappearing just as fast. This time, Ren knew it had been there. “That’s because they are. Konoe doesn’t rely on people in the same manner as Natsume. He uses people until they’ve filled their purpose and then casts them aside.”

Ren narrowed his eyes. Kitagawa was reaching for something, trying to get everyone else to lean in too. “What’s your point, Kitagawa?”

“I’m wondering how many of his allies will be left if Konoe were to disappear. They may not be in Iwakura, but they could be hiding in Yatategi or Akiyama. Meaning destroying one person’s access to Ne no Kuni does not guarantee an end.”

“Well, of course,” Morgana said, folding his small arms across his chest. “As long as magic exists and people still believe in Philemon, there will always be the risk of more Fortresses. But right now, Konoe is the most dangerous. We’ve never actually _seen_ a Fortress come to life before. Plus, the control he has over cognition is incredible. Which is why we need the help from one of the Sacred Treasures.”

“Then let’s break out of here,” Zenkichi cut in. “Our first priority is the statue.”

“The minute we start attacking it, they’ll notice,” Morgana nodded in agreement. “Which means we’ll need a distraction. We’ll split up in two groups. I’ll go with Ryuji and Lady Ann around the Fortress. Zenkichi, your magic is the strongest, so you have a better chance of destroying that statue. Yusuke can go with you.”

‘ _What about—’_

“I’m going with Amamiya.” Kitagawa said stubbornly.

Morgana disagreed. “Ren and Iwai can’t use Persona. They can stay in the safe room until we’ve secured an exist.”

The words stung, a renewed anger burning his veins. He wasn’t going to be a liability. Not this time. Not after enduring the pain he did. “I’ll secure the exit.”

“Ren—”

“We can’t risk staying in one spot for too long. If Natsume or Konoe corner us, we’re dead. Let me help with the statue.”

Morgana looked ready to protest, but Ryuji cut him off. “Let ‘em. When he makes up his mind, nothin’ can change it,” he slapped Ren on the shoulder playfully. “We’ll hold ‘em off; you just gotta give it your all.”

“Ren?” Ann said. There was doubt in her eyes that had been absent in Ryuji’s. “You’d better be careful.”

He smirked. “You know I will.”

“Fine,” Morgana sighed, then he leapt off the table. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

They departed swiftly, Zenkichi pausing at the door when no one else moved. It was Iwai who now looked apprehensive. “Not backing out, are you?” Zenkichi asked him.

“Askin’ a bit late, aren’t we?” Iwai murmured.

“Why work for him?”

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” he let out a one-note laugh. “I have someone I’m looking after. Now it’ll be a matter of getting to them before Konoe does.”

‘ _Like Zenkichi_ ,’ Ren thought. When he first saw Iwai, there hadn’t been that fear he felt with Konoe. And if he was partially responsible for granting Morgana and the others entry, then he had been right to trust his gut. Ren had little control over Iwakura as he was, but…

“When this is over,” he started. “we’ll help you. I can talk something out with Sojiro and you can live with us. It’s the least I can do as thanks.”

“You don’t know what I’ve had to do to get here.”

“I don’t have a reason to distrust you. You saved us, Iwai.”

He shifted awkwardly, as if unfamiliar with gratitude. “Whatever,” but Ren didn’t miss the tiny smirk that flashed at the corner of his mouth. “Hurry up so we can get to work on that statue.”

“Iwai kinda reminds me of you,” Ren said once Iwai left.

Incredulity twisted Zenkichi’s face. “We’re nothing alike.”

“Yeah, sure.”

But he blinked when Zenkichi placed something on the table. It was a tanto, but the blade was like solid ash. His reflection looked back at him as he turned it under the shafts of light. He lifted a hand to test its edge, noticed his missing pinkie, and lowered it.

“Zenkichi,” he said softly. “This is glass.”

“And sharper than the finest steel,” Zenkichi turned to the door. “Don’t forget your training. Both of you.”

When he left, Ren made way for the storage chest. His wardrobe wasn’t anything extravagant despite living with a ‘royal’ family. He knew Kitagawa wouldn’t be selective, so he pulled out one of the white kimonos he wore for his formal visits to the shrines. He held it out, fabric soft and cool in his grip.

Kitagawa blinked, but he took it regardless. With his back to him, Ren saw every scar and burn. They crisscrossed as if he’d been viciously whipped and then burned to cauterize the lacerations. His hair stopped just below the base of his neck.

Ren looked away as he stripped. Awful scenarios replayed in his head again and again, trying to sculpt an image of Kitagawa’s tormentors and how those wounds came to be. Guilt gnawed his heart, plunging its fangs into his arteries and pulling at his veins.

A lump sat in his throat like a stone, and he wrung his hands together. “I’m sorry…” he whispered. “This is my fault. All of it.”

The sound of rustling clothes paused. Kitagawa didn’t respond.

Was he angry? Ren had no right to be upset if he was; he deserved Kitagawa’s scorn.

He deserved more than that. If Kitagawa struck him, he wouldn’t fight back. He wouldn’t spit in his face like he had Konoe.

A sudden grip around his wrist and Ren flinched. _Hard_. He waited for the slap, the punch, but it never came. Instead, he was yanked into Kitagawa’s chest. Ren’s breath caught in his throat as arms cradled him, held him so tight he could barely move.

Kitagawa buried his face in the crook of his neck. A shudder jostled him when he at last, _finally_ , spoke. “There is nothing to forgive. What they did to me was not your fault,” he assured softly. “But… I couldn’t protect you.”

He was dimly aware of his words, his clothed chest pressed against Kitagawa’s bare one. It distracted him, but Ren was far from repulsed. “What are you saying?”

“Your…” (Ren felt him swallow.) “Your fingers.”

“Gone.” Ren said quickly, but there was no bite. “Not your fault. I’ll live without them.”

_Please... stop talking about them._

Kitagawa paused, but said nothing, and for a moment, Ren closed his eyes. He could forget they had just been put through hell if he tried hard enough. But they didn’t have time.

…And yet, a deeper part of him begged: _Why_?

Why was Kitagawa so forgiving? Could he truly not feel disdain for whoever he was serving?

( _Was he still hiding something_?)

“Forgive me for my moment of vulnerability,” Kitagawa muttered, and he stepped back, his hands going to his kimono to finish dressing. “Zenkichi and Iwai shouldn’t be kept waiting.”

Ren averted his gaze again. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat as his voice caught on the word. “Yeah, I’ll give you some space.”

Back turned to Kitagawa, he swiped up the dagger. Doubt filled him as he turned it over in his hand. He tightened his grip, unable to ignore how different it felt with one missing finger. Earlier he pondered how difficult it would have been to steal with permanent, damaged hands; he’d not thought of combat.

“Amamiya.”

He looked back to Kitagawa, who stared at him with hardened eyes. Nothing more needed to be said. They were getting out of the cognitive Iwakura. Alive.

“Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite going through hell, Ren still doesn’t feel completely trustful of Yusuke; there’s still some hidden anger there that I have not forgotten about. You can say he’s being petty because he is.
> 
> [Chapter 9 Notes + Warnings here](https://ne-no-kuni.dreamwidth.org/2515.html)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this ended up being over 30 pages long...
> 
> With Scramble coming out next week and March being not too far after, I thought I should really get around to wrapping this up. There is a minor "spoiler" in regards to Natsume's appearance, but Atlus honestly spoiled themselves first by sharing his concept art and multiple screencaps early. I just ran with it.

Morgana and the others were fast workers.

An explosion surged through the building, marble floor trembling beneath their feet as they sped towards the garden. From outside, he could see the occasional plume of fire or angry bolt of lightning rising or crashing down from somewhere in the Fortress. The air was alive with magic.

Zenkichi had already summoned Valjean by the time they arrived. But they soon realized one _Megidolaon_ spell was not enough to crack the hideous Natsume statue.

It stood over them with arms akimbo. A smug smirk twisted its immobile lips, golden pupils staring down with that familiar arrogance. Among the dark forest of Ne no Kuni and the modest lantern lights, it could not have looked more out of place.

“Kitagawa,” he looked over to Hasegawa. “I need your help.”

Right. That’s why he was here.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Amamiya watching him. Whatever doubt and anger that sparked between them earlier could be put to rest for a moment longer. Not that he wanted it to, but because he _needed_ it. The blue flames veiled his face, molding and pressing into the familiar fox mask.

It was then he realized how much he was dreading this impending discussion with Amamiya. Hurt or not, he had lied to not only his lord but the entire Sakura family and their close allies.

 _But_ , and he grasped the corner of the mask, _there was time for that later._

“Goemon!”

The bells hanging from the fox’s ears twinkled and winked at him as he pried the mask from his face. Energy welled up inside him, building in his heart and stretching its limbs through his veins…

…and the mask disappeared from his hand in a burst of flame. He blinked, realizing it had materialized back on his face. The magic thrumming within his body snuffed out of existence.

“…What—?”

“What’s wrong?” Amamiya said suddenly.

Yusuke ignored him and reached for his mask a second time. “Come, Goemon!”

This time, when the flames danced along his face, he knew there was no point in trying again. He shook his head, wanting to tear those wretched bells and hurl them into the dirt. The familiar rush of panic clambered into his voice. “I can’t— Something’s stopping me from using my Persona.”

“It’s not some _thing_ as much as it’s some _one_ ,” Hasegawa’s Persona – Valjean – burst into existence. The familiar, bright spheres of an Almighty spell expelled beams of energy. They crashed into Statue Natsume’s leg. Flakes of gold chipped off, but the limb was still perfectly intact. He turned to Yusuke then, and though the mask covered his eyes, Yusuke could feel the disappointment. “Because it’s been blocked off for so long, it may be less eager to listen to your commands.”

The news would have shaken him to his core… had he not come to that conclusion earlier when Betro attacked him. When there was no excuse to have _not_ used a blast of ice to freeze that monster to the wall. But hearing it from Hasegawa made it feel more real.

Hasegawa gave him the confirmation he had not wanted to hear.

“So help him get it out.” Iwai offered, impatience sanding his words.

“It’s not that simple,” Amamiya intervened, eyes lowered. “Magic and Persona have a mind of their own. They’re a second entity that exists in us.”

“They _are_ us,” Hasegawa corrected.

Pressure leaned into the air, and Yusuke turned back to the entrance. He should’ve known leaving the entrance unguarded was foolish. But without his Persona, how could he have fought off what stood before them?

Natsume wore the same dark mantle getup. The only difference were the lilac-dyed horns protruding from the sides of his head. At his side was a giant man clad in crimson armor atop a large steed with a storm-gray coat. One of the horns on his helmet had been snapped off, and from the visor, Yusuke noticed there was only one eye visible. Further beyond them were the same Shadow men who watched his torment with uncaring, golden eyes.

He glared directly at Natsume, self-consciously moving closer to Amamiya. His hand fell to his sword. They didn’t break him; he could still fight.

“It seems there are still a few rats scurrying around.” Natsume glowered.

“Don’t get in our way.” Yusuke warned.

“You shut your damn mouth, Kitagawa!!” he screamed, composure splitting. For all the hell he put him through, Yusuke was reminded that Natsume was just a person. Someone he knew and once cared for, but a person. “All of you… I should’ve had you and Amamiya killed, but _he_ insisted you stay alive…!”

“How generous.” Amamiya muttered.

Natsume’s eyes roamed to Iwai. With a steady finger, he pointed. “And _you_ … Traitorous scum don’t belong here.” When his hand fell to his side again, he took a step back. The immature rage that blazed across his face dissolved into something calmer… eerily calmer. “I suppose asking you to return to your cells is out of the question. A shame. We could’ve done this the easy way.”

At the snap of his fingers, the surrounding Shadows shriveled and melted in black and red colors. They rose from the ground in gray Teretian armor perched atop red horses. A three-pronged, golden spear stood proudly in their grasp, and, as if given a silent cue, their lances dipped forward.

The larger knight atop the horse with the storm-dyed pelt strode forward. A red spear manifested in his hand. It stared straight at Yusuke and Amamiya.

“Betro,” Natsume said. “Take care of them.”

He felt the sting of that name, felt it shake him to his very core. His grip on the katana hilt stuttered, and he had no chance to draw it when the Shadow advanced. Yusuke turned, lunging for Amamiya and pushing him down just as the lance scraped the spot where they’d just been standing.

The remaining Shadows charged forward.

Valjean unleashed a _Megidolaon_ at their steeds. A noise chorused from the horses, and Yusuke vaguely recognized it as the sound of something dying. They weren’t real animals, but their agony was alive.

Earth coughed up in chunks as an explosion lit the ground a few feet in front of them. “Betro” pointed his lance at them, his horse whinnying and pawing the ground with a sturdy hoof. Its height dwarfed them in comparison, and Yusuke could only glimpse Hasegawa and Iwai swamped by a horde of the smaller horsemen. For a brief second, he thought there was a woman with a snake body amidst the crowd, but his attention was snagged back to red-clad knight.

“What will you do now, little warrior?” Betro jeered, the earlier cowardice that strangled his voice long gone. “Will you flee your lordling and save yourself?”

He’d not been given the time to answer when Betro charged again. His horse lashed out with its legs, narrowly missing Amamiya. When Yusuke sprung forward, hoping to close the distance between them, Betro’s lance scraped against his arm as he stomped past once more.

“Kitagawa!”

Yusuke gritted his teeth, wound stinging. The unblemished white of his ( _of Amamiya’s_ ) clothes was now tarnished with dirt and bright flecks of blood.

“You have magic,” Betro swung, and Yusuke parried with a last-minute draw of his sword. He threw himself back when the horse swerved, head swinging to smack him aside. “Show me!”

A sphere of fire sputtered angrily in Betro’s palm before he threw it in Amamiya’s direction. The grass caught fire, arching into dangerous walls as it cut them off one another.

Yusuke dove forward, his blade gliding against Betro’s shin. It left no mark – not even a faint white line. He cursed. Did he _truly_ need magic to defeat this monster?

“ _Maragi_ …”

Another wall of flame cut off Amamiya. Smoke clung to the air as the grass shriveled beneath its burning touch.

Horror dragged its fingers down Yusuke’s spine as he realized what Betro was doing. “Coward…!” he spat, choking on his curse as the fumes shot down his throat.

Betro’s weapon thrust forward like a snake. Yusuke sidestepped, and, without thinking, grasped its neck. He stumbled forward as Betro pulled him closer. A hard tap of ironed heels against the flank of his horse was all it took for them to surge forward.

Yusuke shut his eyes against the hard dirt and stone that spat in his face. He could feel his shoulder and side scrape open against the ground, turning on his back when Betro changed directions. Tension ran along the body of the lance, and Yusuke could feel it just _barely_ slip from Betro’s grip when he was slammed into a jutting piece of building.

He exclaimed as it caught him in his side, tearing through cloth and skin as easily as one would rip paper. The lance was wrenched from his hands; it cut the edges of his palms as a farewell kiss. His tsuba pressed against his left leg, but he’d not been given the chance to reach for it when Betro pointed his weapon in warning.

“A fitting look for you, Kitagawa,” he jeered. “As much as you enjoyed our play time, I’m afraid I can’t let you live.”

The words registered quickly, and Yusuke barely had time to raise his sword when Betro’s lance dove for his heart.

It thudded against the barrier of ice.

Subconsciously, he reached for his mask.

Goemon summoned itself, dark silhouette winking into a coherent mesh of colors. A blue robe, large black hair, gold geta sandals. The pipe it held between its fingers was white with gold-printed sakura flowers near the base.

White flames, harmless and bright, flickered along his body. He glimpsed the white-furred collar and the dark blue material of his clothes before it dissolved back into Amamiya’s yukata.

Frost flared into crystal stalagmites from beneath Betro’s feet, spreading along the ground like a quake. His horse whinnied in a frenzy as it toppled to the side, dragging its rider with it.

Yusuke sprung to his feet and drew his sword. Goemon had returned to its dark colors before it too disappeared.

“Wait—” Betro struggled to free himself, his leg trapped between the ground and his own steed.

He noticed Betro’s four-fingered hand tightened around the reins of his horse. Dark satisfaction curled in him at the sight (‘ _Good._ ’), and yet he could not bring his sword through the man’s throat. He angled it so the tip hovered over Betro’s visor. There was no clear-cut way to his neck, but Yusuke understood how most people worked. Villains that they could not afford to kill spoke better when they had something else taken away.

“How do we destroy the statue?” he demanded.

Confusion blinked in his eyes. “ _What_?”

“The _statue_ ,” his teeth gritted together. “How—?”

Whatever answer he would have been given was robbed away in the form of hot, purple-blue flames that burst to life on Betro’s body. Yusuke surged back in fright, stumbling as he backpedaled away from the screaming and anguish of both knight and rider. The fire licked across red armor, melting it away until he was rendered to black ash.

And standing outside the ring of fire next to one of Natsume’s Shadows, was Amamiya.

The gray-armored knight was quiet atop his red steed, but Yusuke noticed the same purple flames dancing along the tip of the lance.

As he drew his sword, Amamiya raised his hand in warning. “Stop. It’s on our side,” he paused. “For now.”

Yusuke shook his head, words evading him. “Impossible.”

“If you hadn’t knocked it down, it would’ve been.” Amamiya was unharmed, it seemed; no burns were scorched into his flesh. That would be a question for a later time.

Before he could ask for details, the lady with the snake body surged free of Valjean’s barrage of Almighty spells. She bolted across the ground, black hair framing her face as she reared up. Her icy gaze was flecked with an eerie pink and purple. Towering over them, she bellowed, “ _Die, trickster_!”

The lanced pierced her through her back, orange and bright. He saw betrayal and shock quickly shove aside aside whatever spell she planned on using. A name formed on her lips before she fell. Her body erupted into black static.

One by one, the other Shadows fell.

When he looked to Natsume, he knew why.

“You… Always getting in my way…” he glowered, voice belonging and yet not belonging to him. “If I need something done _, I have to do it myself_!!”

A horrible crunching noise split the air as two thin bones bloomed from Natsume’s back. They arched, curling and growing scales and membrane. Dimly, Yusuke realized he was staring at _wings_.

His hands curled into claws, body slowly expanding to accommodate the growing wings breaking apart his body. The horns were pushed further apart as whatever shred of human on his face fell aside for a reptilian head. A tail grew at the base of his spine, coiling around growing limbs. Below the transformation from beast to man was the sound of Natsume’s rage and frustration.

“What’re you doing?!” Hasegawa’s voice sounded. Yusuke looked over to see Iwai raising a crossbow at Natsume’s head.

“Really wanna sit and let this guy change into something stronger?”

The dragon roared, violet scales winking as it swung its tail in a wide arc. Hasegawa and Iwai were thrown into each other, tossed aside like insects.

Yusuke barely registered Amamiya calling out to them when Natsume lunged forward. Wind kicked up beneath his fully-grown wings, tearing through the grass and pushing aside Amamiya and the Shadow. His katana was only a quarter free of its sheath when Natsume’s clawed hand crushed his torso in its grasp.

The air locked in his lungs. He could scarcely cry out beyond a strangled noise of pain. Sword and scabbard pressed up against his body and he was carried upwards.

“You’ve… ruined… everything…!” A glare of abysmal hatred creased Natsume’s face.

Yusuke wasn’t able to protest before Natsume drove his fist into the statue. Stone crumbled upon impact, cutting into his back and bashing his head before being dragged along its rough surface. He shut his eyes against the pain around him. Consciousness threatened to leave him, and he struggled to make out the voices in his surroundings.

When they stopped moving, he blearily opened his eyes. Warmth radiated from Natsume’s maw. Smoke curled from its nostrils. “Natsume…” he could manage through crushed lungs. “Stop… this!”

Natsume opened his mouth, but no voice came out. The fire burned eagerly at the back of his throat…

…then the flames snuffed out. A disgruntled noise exploded from him, and Natsume turned his large head to look.

Puzzled, Yusuke followed his gaze. It didn’t take long to find what had offended him so.

Ice crawled along the base of Natsume’s tail, sealing it to the statue’s shoes. It climbed slowly, almost tauntingly. To the side was Amamiya with the Shadow. The familiar crystal blue of a bufu spell swirled around the Shadow’s spearhead.

“You dare, false lord!” Natsume growled, but as he turned, bright energy blasted his left wing. He roared, more in anger than pain, head turning to the second offender.

Yusuke glimpsed Valjean’s dark and silver body before Natsume relinquished his grip. Above him, the statue grew taller and taller as he sank faster and faster to the unforgiving ground. Natsume howled again as ice blasted his right thigh, and just as Yusuke was expecting the earth to deliver him unconscious, he landed in something firm.

Iwai dipped as he caught him, the added weight bringing him to his knees. A word of gratitude hurried to his lips, quickly shoved back down his throat when Natsume landed on all fours.

“Move it!” Iwai pushed him to his feet.

They charged out the way of a piece of statue breaking off from somewhere above. His skin felt as if it were tearing – and maybe it was – when he threw himself into a roll. The stone, part of the statue’s hand, smacked the ground with a muffled _thud_.

Heat burned the air as tongues of flame unfurled from Natsume’s mouth. Valjean disappeared in a flash of bright light as Hasegawa returned him before ducking away. The Shadow that Amamiya had borrowed was swallowed by bright flames, its cry filling the garden. When the flames subsided, Amamiya was left alone, fixing Natsume with a defiant glare.

“What’s the matter?” Natsume jeered, raising his mighty claws. (Pain be damned, Yusuke thought, as he shot towards Amamiya.) “Was that your only _trick—_?!”

“Amamiya—!!” The name fled his lips just as Natsume’s hand came down.

Green blades of wind whipped across the field, burrowing into the dragon’s shoulder. Tall, orange-white flames came next followed by lightning that split the sky in angry bolts. They thudded against Natsume’s back with a shout.

Natsume fell with a pained cry, dirt coughing up around his body as he landed.

“It’s still up?!” Ryuji called, Persona blinking out of existence. Yusuke had glimpsed a skull-faced, humanoid being surfing atop a narrow Teretian ship..

“We had our own business to take care of,” Hasegawa countered dryly. “Weren’t _you_ our decoy?”

To his right, Natsume began to stir, but as he moved, his body shrunk. Reptilian scales melting back into human flesh, horns retreating into the crown of his head, claws thinning into nails. Their eyes met before Iwai aimed the crossbow at the back of Natsume’s head.

“That’s enough.” He said.

Nastume only scoffed, glaring harshly into the dirt.

Someone clapped their hands in mock-congratulations, the sound ricocheting through the garden. Yusuke glanced where Morgana and the others had entered, fully expecting but not entirely surprised to see Konoe Akira.

He was armed to the teeth in white and red-trimmed karuda. Yusuke had seen this outfit before, or something eerily like it. They had once set out on a mission and Konoe took it upon himself to dress as if he were marching into war. Stopping a group of brigands did not require such excessive armor, but perhaps he’d worn such a thing purely to feed his own arrogance.

“My, you’ve certainly caused quite a mess…” Konoe said smoothly. His hand was atop the hilt of his katana, but he made no move to draw it. “Do you realize how many Shadows I’ll need to clean it up?”

Takamaki gasped then, and Yusuke whipped his head in the direction of her gaze. A bright, blue and white swirl of energy spun beneath the shell of the statue. “Is that…?”

“No doubt, Lady Ann,” Morgana nodded. “But we’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“Akira…” Natsume coughed, ignoring Iwai pressing the weapon closer. “I tried—”

“…And you failed.” Konoe dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I can’t say I’m surprised. It was too much to send one person after three magic users,” he paused then, letting out a one note laugh as his eyes skated to Amamiya. “I mean, _two_ magic users.”

Amamiya’s fist clenched then, and had Yusuke been closer, maybe he would’ve grasped it. But he did no such thing. Konoe was built on dishing petty insults when he had his opponents cornered. It was a cruel jab for his victims to carry into the afterlife before his sword cut through their throats.

“Magic ain’t got nothing to do with this!” Sakamoto fired, far more vocal than the rest of them in Amamiya’s defense. “You’re just sulking cause your little friend here got his ass kicked! So why don’t you shut the hell up, idiot!”

“Friend?” Konoe echoed. “Do you truly think we have something as childish as friendship to worry about? But you fought hard, and I’m feeling generous. Why not step into the portal?”

“Like we’re going to believe your lying ass, you—”

“Sakamoto.” Hasegawa said sternly. He frowned back at Konoe. “What’s your catch?”

“For real—”

“Catch? I won’t need to do anything,” Konoe said nonchalantly. “That portal links this world to the real one, but no one ever said it was a straightforward path. Did you think you could leave the same way you came? That we weren’t aware of you from the start?”

Yusuke felt his stomach drop. “You knew…” he muttered.

“Of course I did. This is _my_ world. My fortress.” he gave a dramatic sweep of his hand.

Behind them, the statue grumbled, like a volcano before its eruption. The sculpture in Natsume’s image fell, stone and bronze peeling as easily as paint. He didn’t look to Natsume, to see how he felt about Konoe demolishing his statue with such ease. Instead, he felt the gentle, stubborn tug of the white and blue portal that stood in its place.

“You’d better hurry. It may not stay up forever.” Konoe cautioned. “Please: talk it over with each other.”

“What now?” Sakamoto spoke first, looking to Morgana. “If he’s tellin’ the truth then what happens if we get lost?”

“There has to be a way,” Takamaki assured.

Morgana looked conflicted, doubt filling his eyes. “I… I want to believe that too, Lady Ann. But…”

“You’re a magical talking cat,” Iwai cut in then, the edges of his patience sanded down. “who happens to live there. Meaning you're our best navigator. What’s got you so worried?”

“Ne no Kuni is huge! It could take me days or _months_ to find you all!”

“We’ll find a way.” Amamiya said suddenly, voice firm.

Morgana frowned. “You’re willing to take that big a risk?”

“The other option is staying trapped in a cognitive world with _them_. If you can trust me, then we’ll make it out alive. We’ve all walked in Ne no Kuni before. We know what to look for. Don’t forget that, and we’ll be fine.”

Between the two options, wandering about in Ne no Kuni seemed the most merciful. He felt his own doubt buried deep within, but seeing the determination in Amamiya’s eyes silenced him.

‘ _He’s trying_ ,’ Yusuke realized. ‘ _He’s scared too. But the most he can do is_ try. _For us._ ’

“I’m with Amamiya,” he said firmly. When they looked to him, he continued. “The hell Natsume and Konoe put us through is not something I’d wish on anyone else. I’d rather walk until my feet bled than suffer at their hands again, let alone see a fraction of their torture befall _any_ of you. So, I am placing all the trust I have in my lord.”

Astonishment lit Amamiya’s face, and he averted his gaze then, running a hand through his hair almost bashfully.

Morgana sighed heavily. “You’re right. Both of you.”

A furious yell exploded from Natsume’s mouth then. They’d barely the time to move when his claws tore through Iwai’s wrist, crossbow clattering to the ground as Iwai exclaimed in pain. He scrambled for the weapon, holding it up and aiming from once face to the next.

“None of you are going anywhere…!” he hissed. There was madness in his eyes and the crossbow quaked in his grasp. “You will not ruin what we worked so hard to achieve! What we came so close to having!”

Frustration boiled in his stomach and surged up his throat. “And what do you plan on doing once you’ve achieved your fame and fortune?” Yusuke fired back, unflinching as Natsume trained the arrow at him. “Do you expect the people to blindly follow someone who murdered innocents?”

“Shut up, Kitagawa!” his finger hovered over the trigger. “As if you, of all people, have any say about murdering innocent people! Hypocrite!”

The words hit him like stones, and he felt the gate come down on the anger that spurred him to speak. He gritted his teeth, suddenly hating Natsume with the same loathing intensity he felt for himself.

‘ _You don’t know me_!’ is what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t speak, because Natsume—

—screamed his pain as a bolt of lightning buried itself into his shoulder. The arrow snapped loose from its groove and buried its head in the ground as he crumpled.

“Gods, spare me your theatrics, Natsume!” Konoe snapped, lightning prancing along the steel of his blade. “I had to endure their pep talk and now I have to put up with you?”

“What…?” Natsume whispered, and Yusuke saw the familiar betrayal spark in his eyes.

‘ _Not fun being on the other end, is it_?’

“It’s a shame it’s come to this, but like all tools, they eventually need replacing,” and his hand glided over the shimmering onyx of his katana. This time, ice rose in wispy, curls of air. Its very existence chilled Yusuke to the core.

“Konoe,” he said slowly. “Are you…?”

“A wildcard? That _is_ what you people call it, yes?” Konoe scoffed with a shake of his head. “I’m not. Thanks to Philemon’s blessing, I have been given something stronger than what any of you could hope to achieve.”

“The regalia…” Natsume choked, miraculously able to clamber to his knees despite the bolt of magic pierced through him. “You had it this whole time…?”

Without answering, Konoe thrust the blade into the ground. Ice shards exploded around him followed by blades of wind and whips of flame.

The magic exploded against his chest, taking the air out of him with its touch, and he was thrown aside, landed on his torn back. He squeezed his eyes shut just as Sakamoto, Morgana, and Takamaki were swept into the portal.

Another barrage of hail and splashes of electricity rained down on them. Someone screamed, but he didn’t know who, too busy shielding himself as the spells pierced his body. He was on fire, burning beneath the relentless wave of a magic that no human should possess. When he opened his mouth to shout, the magic scorched his tongue and plunged down his throat until he choked.

For a while, he lay there, adjusting to the blackness of his closed eyes, hoping he would awaken in Iwakura – the _real_ Iwakura.

The hand on his forearm reminded him of fate’s cruelty.

“You can’t fight it…” Natsume hissed out, fingers tightening into his sleeve. “Give up...!”

‘ _Growing a conscience?_ ’ he wanted to challenge but the pitiful state of the garden silenced him. Hasegawa was unconscious, a part of his body swallowed by the portal. Yusuke pieced together the scream from earlier and realized it had come from him. Which left…

…Iwai, sleeve darkened with blood, stared and blinked over at Konoe…

…who stood above Amamiya.

Yusuke barely had the time to move when Konoe hoisted Amamiya off his feet, hand curled around his throat. The katana at Konoe’s side cackled wildly with energy. A threat, a reminder that he could obliterate any of them if they stepped out of place. “Konoe, stop…!” was all he could muster, voice weak as it lay beneath Amamiya’s struggling.

Konoe Akira did not hear him. “Would the people grieve for a thief?” he pondered. “I think not.”

The arrow sank into his shoulder, but Konoe hardly flinched. He looked over with all the interest of a rich man staring down at a commoner. Iwai cursed, went to reload, and a stray tongue of magic lashed the weapon out of his hand.

“Is this your redemption, Iwai Munehisa?” Konoe snapped, releasing his hold on Amamiya. He did not stray from his side.

“Why…” Amamiya’s voice caught on the first word, his four-fingered hand massaging his abused neck. “Why are you… still here…? Go…!”

Iwai remained. Whether from fear or stubbornness, Yusuke did not know. He glimpsed the portal take in Hasegawa; it was too late to call his name. Even now, he could feel that magnetic pull. If no one made a decision, the portal would act in their favor.

For a split moment, genuine confusion flickered across Konoe’s face. Then, it gave away to soft laughter… slowly bubbling until it exploded into hysterics. Madness stuck to his voice like dew to a leaf, and Yusuke found he could only watch in disbelief.

“Now this…” Konoe breathed, sneering at Amamiya. “ _This_ is unexpected.”

“What’s so funny?” Natsume called, the volume of his demand crashing into Yusuke’s back.

Konoe exhaled, dark mirth creasing his face. “Everything.”

To his left, Iwai’s head was lowered, glaring holes into the ground. Something was horribly wrong.

“Little thief, don’t you get it?” and at Amamiya’s confusion, Konoe’s face almost _softened_. Honest pity. It was gone with a shake of the head. “Since the beginning of time, the four prefectures of Riiben knew peace. From Yatategi’s frigid nature to the never-ending autumn that befalls Akiyama. But there was one land to the east separated from its brothers by a grand river. It was here where Iwakura’s personal group of thieves were tasked with purging traitors and gathering information.”

Konoe nudged Amamiya with his foot. “Does that sound familiar to you?”

“What’s your point?” he fired back, apprehension lying under his words.

“…A decade ago, those very group of thieves had been purged themselves in what some of us call the Minochi’s Massacre. All it took was a little magic from Ne no Kuni and a few coins to slip into the pockets of mercenaries and brigands. Pay them money, and they will do anything,” he paused. “What if I were to tell you the person you’ve hated since you were a child was closer than you think?”

Iwai’s fist slammed into the ground. “Shut your fucking mouth!”

“Me?” Konoe bristled, almost tauntingly so. “Are you that _afraid_ of Amamiya knowing the truth?”

All eyes were on Iwai, who had not budged. Not even to glare at Konoe with that same hatred he saved for monsters like Betro or the Shadows.

“This is why you could never lead a country, Amamiya,” Konoe said. “You offered this man a promise to rebuild his life, to live in the harmony that he’s fought for since birth. But you never, not once, questioned his origins. Did you ever ask yourself why such a lowly man would work for me?”

“How do you know—” Amamiya started.

“Such a coward, Iwai. Even until the end,” he lamented, ignoring Amamiya. “You were a good servant, however. I can give you that. But you were never able to erase the guilt from your conscience. For in protecting your own son, you robbed another boy of his family and homeland.”

Silence descended upon them, a weight that hushed even the _Kusanagi no Tsurugi_. A whirl of emotions snarled in his chest as he saw the realization spread across Amamiya’s face, and Iwai’s clenched eyes. Somehow, he found his voice. “Iwai… Tell me this isn’t true.”

“And what would that achieve?!” Iwai spit back. He lifted his head to Konoe. “I did it. I sold them out.”

Konoe scoffed. “Don’t tell me; I already knew. But this one…” he swept his hand at Amamiya, who had gone eerily quiet.

Iwai cursed, but he faced Amamiya. He hesitated. “My village was destroyed, leaving me, my son, and nothing but revenge-hungry men. But that’s all we needed: Anger. It drove us forward and we didn’t think. I was able to find refuge for Kaoru, but I remained with the yakuza. As long as I could take care of him in some way, that was all that mattered.

“I did despicable things to people; shit that ruined their lives. But it wasn’t until Minochi’s Masscare when I saw just what the hell it was doing to people. I… tracked your family. I pinpointed their travels and what routes they took when meeting with Iwakura’s royal family. When it was time, I gave that info to Tsuda. And he led the charge.” he bowed his head, forehead touching the dirt. “In the short time we knew each other, you offered nothing but kindness to the man who made you an orphan.”

Something cracked in Amamiya’s stoic expression, and Yusuke was nearly overcome by the need to shield his lord.

But from what? From the confession that he already knew? From Iwai?

“H-He’s not innocent…” Natsume stammered, and Yusuke would’ve spun around and struck him if not for what came next. “Konoe. You worked with yakuza. You—”

“—am just as responsible? I suppose I am.” Konoe finished as he unsheathed his sword. He raised it to Iwai’s neck and jeeringly declared, “How shall we execute this traitor, your majesty?”

‘ _Goemon_!’ he reached out with his mind, struggling to his feet. ‘ _Where_ are _you…?!’_

“A death fit for a king.”

The sword came down, but it did not _thunk_ into the thick flesh of a person’s neck. Metal rang as _Kusanagi no Tsurugi_ locked against the ashen dagger. Half-crouched and half-standing was Amamiya, who held his weapon in a reverse grip and pushed into Konoe’s parry. Behind him, Iwai was frozen in disbelief.

Yusuke gripped the katana and kicked into motion.

“Amamiya— you—!!” was all Konoe could grunt out before Yusuke drew his blade.

Their parry broke, and Konoe swerved to meet Yusuke. Amamiya buried the dagger into Konoe’s unguarded thigh. He screamed, and Yusuke drove a foot into his stomach, reeling him onto his back. The sacred treasure landed at his side. Blood ran in thin rivulets from the stab wound, staining Konoe’s hands.

“You… _animals_ …!” he spat, reaching for his sword. “You would defend a murderer?”

“The only one who deserves death is you, Konoe Akira,” Amamiya said coldly.

“He’s the reason your life has become what it is!”

A pause, and for a horrid moment, Yusuke thought him to be contemplating Konoe’s desperate reasoning…

“…You have one too.”

Yusuke turned to glare at Natsume. “What was that?” he glowered.

“Amamiya,” he took a step closer, and Yusuke found himself drawing his sword in warning. Natsume ignored him. “Give that to me. It’s part of something remarkably similar to Konoe’s sword.”

But Amamiya did not so much as grace him with an answer.

It was the wrong thing to do.

Natsume lunged, abandoning reason as he did so. He made a futile grab for the dagger just as Yusuke slammed the hilt of his katana against his stomach. The wind was stolen from him, but he wasted no time in grappling at Yusuke, struggling to free his wrists and kicking and clawing like some wild animal.

“ _Let go of me!!_ ” he shouted, one hand tearing at Yusuke’s hair while the other scraped his wrists

“Enough of this!”

Before he could piece together what he was doing, Yusuke kicked him in the shin and freed his sword hand. His sword’s kashira crashed into Natsume’s skull, breaking the bridge of his glasses and crunching his nose. The grip in his hair loosened and fell away completely, leaving an unconscious pile at his feet.

That was when Konoe released a bolt from a hidden crossbow.

Amamiya didn’t see it, too fixated on Yusuke and Natsume’s squabble.

Any attention given to Konoe would not have stopped that untimely arrow from piercing Iwai’s neck.

“No…!” the word exploded from him as Iwai collapsed in Amamiya’s arms, blood splattering his front.

He choked, guttural and garbled as his command collapsed on itself, fleeing cold lips. A last, desperate command. A plea.

‘ _…Go…!’_

Amamiya did not, in fact, go. He stood with shock paralyzing his body. At some point, Konoe cursed Iwai, damning him for getting in the way. It had been a blessing, in the worst way, to hear Konoe’s voice. It was what pushed Yusuke into action.

He grabbed Amamiya’s forearm with both hands, wrenching him into the portal.

Konoe raised the crossbow once more, fury in his eyes, and the cognitive Iwakura vanished.

Amamiya had been in his grasp and then vanished just as he looked away. He’d barely spoken his name when he touched the cold floor of Ne no Kuni. An endless sea of low-hanging, white fog surrounded him. Poking through the mist were thin, black trees with spindly bodies.

When he called out for Amamiya, only the echo of his voice yelled back.

As he walked, the fog parted way, as if welcoming him. But there was little more other than the tasteless smell of the air and the mild temperature that was like a balm to his open wounds.

‘ _This is what Konoe meant_.’ Endless paths, no one around, and doomed to wander an abyss. He couldn’t damn Konoe for this decision when he’d so boldly declare he’d rather his feet break apart than endure more torment. ‘ _Let them bleed_.’

( _Just as the blood gushed from the hole in Iwai’s throat_.

 _‘Go.’_ )

When he stepped away from the path and towards what looked like a piece of a stone wall, he found he could go no further. A barrier rippled beneath his fingertips, spreading to the unending sky and digging its roots into the earth.

He was trapped.

And yet...

A noise sounded. Like someone whistling

His head shot in the direction of the voice. “Who’s there?” but his body carried him, unwilling to wait for an answer. At the upcoming fork in the road was a sign without letters. It pointed both east and west towards more and more endless fog.

“…here…”

He looked to the sign.

“…this…way…”

But when he reached for it, he was met with resistance.

“follow my voice… the path… open…”

There was time to ponder the owner of that voice; it was not now. Carefully, he placed both hands on the invisible wall and shoved. The added pressure sent out shockwaves, rippling much like the last spot had. He’d almost retired when then came a _crack_. Blinking, he looked up.

A small, hairline fracture on the sign. No… _above_ the sign. As if it were enveloped in some glass case.

Yusuke ground his teeth, heaved himself into the wall. A pinch of discomfort prickled his shoulder, but he pushed. He pushed until his feet began to scrape the dirt from under. The cracking swelled, chips of invisible glass falling into his hair and on his clothes before disappearing.

He reared back before slamming into the barrier once more.

White light spilled from the fracture, and when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the endless forest.

Instead, he was now surrounded by green shrubbery and trees. Life breathed with every gentle sweep of wind that rustled a wide, clear lake. Further back was a tall, oak tree with gaping roots that curtained over the edge of an alcove. Platforms of light streamed down from the canopies, giving a sheen to the wildlife. He was positioned at the bank, muck suctioned to his feet.

At the center of the lake was a small island with a large rock. Sitting quietly and humming that tune he’d heard earlier, was a young girl with red hair and crystal blue eyes. She wore a plain, white gown that reminded him of Amamiya’s ceremonial garb. The one that he now wore himself and was sure had been dirtied beyond recognition in the previous fight. Around her neck was a thin rope looped through a gold-veined, jade magatama.

The girl stopped humming. She did not look up at him. “Hello, Kitagawa Yusuke,” she said, her voice childish and matching her appearance. “My name is Sophia. I am humanity’s friend.”

“Humanity’s… friend?” he echoed slowly.

“You were separated from them,” she continued. “but they’re safe. They’re waiting for you on the other side.”

He approached her slowly, the water lukewarm from bathing beneath the sun’s rays. It reached just below the kneecaps, and a passing realization flitted through his mind. He was suddenly aware of how unfit, how un _clean_ he was in the presence of this… this…

“What are you?”

“I told you: I am humanity’s friend.”

“I mean,” he tried again. “Are you a yokai? A Persona, perhaps?”

“I am neither,” she said once he’d step foot onto the island.

“You brought me here,” and when she nodded, he dipped his head in respect. “Thank you, Sophia. I’d have wandered forever if not for you.”

“There is still one more person we are searching for. He will be here soon.”

 _One more_ …? “You mean Amamiya?”

She nodded, her eyes flitting to the rock she sat upon. “His grief and pain… I can feel it even here,” when she looked back at him, there were not the eyes of a young girl, but a wise sage. “You are not without suffering either. It is how I found you.”

Yusuke closed his eyes, averting his head. This girl, this _being,_ saw everything. In the hands of the wrong person, she could be dangerous.

“There is one favor I must ask of you…”

“I’ll try,” he said, not knowing what he was agreeing to.

Sophia looked over her shoulder and he followed her gaze to the alcove beneath the great oak.

His heart clambered into his throat.

Curled on his side with a round, black-shaped object, was one Natsume Ango. His back was to them, but Yusuke could hear him breathing.

Yusuke reached for his side, but found only an empty hilt. Cursing, he asked sharply, “What is _he_ doing here?”

“I don't want any violence in this sacred realm,” Sophia warned, a dangerous edge in her voice. “He fell in after you. His friend brought him here, and so I took away his powers." She bowed her head. "Please convince him to return the _Yata no Kagami_.”

He was helpless to stop the incredulity from filling his words. “ _That_ is the regalia?”

“As it is now, it’s powerless,” she assured quietly. “It is no more useful than this rock. But unlike the rock, you shouldn’t sit on it. You might be too heavy.”

That… had not been part of the plan.

“Speak to him. Treat it as if its your last. He cannot hurt you anymore.”

Reluctantly, he nodded, walking around Sophia and stepping back into the water. As he approached, he felt that all too familiar swell of anger. Of hurt and betrayal. His fingers brushed at his hair, and he was reminded too quickly of how crudely Natsume hacked it off. This girl asked him to be merciful to the man who tormented him so.

‘ _I’ll try_ ,’ is what he told her, and Yusuke knew it was all he _could_ do.

Natsume did not stir when he stood over him, his eyes glued to the plain black surface of the mirror. Upon its face was a missing shard, a clean crack, as if someone had carved it out rather break it. Yusuke saw his reflection, saw the anger upon his own face and the devoid one of Natsume’s. He found it easier to stare at the back of Natsume’s head.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Yusuke would have none of that. “Return that. It does not belong to you.”

“It is not the samurai’s either.”

“Is that what I am?” he countered, dangling a challenge before Natsume’s face. “Was all it took were a few lashings and burns for your approval?”

But Natsume’s voice was not angry. He sat up, but his gaze did not stray from the mirror. “You never cared about my approval.”

His patience thinned. “I’m not here to placate you. I am here for what you’re holding. What you do after this is not my concern.”

To his utter astonishment, the mirror was shoved in his direction. Held out in firm hands. But what truly shocked him was Natsume’s eyes. The pupils were gone. It was as if he were gazing upon fogged glass.

Tentatively, he took the mirror, avoiding its face. “Are you… blind?” he asked cautiously.

Natsume quirked a brow in confusion. He realized Natsume’s nose was not broken. Instead, a faint scar was the only indication of their earlier scuffle. “Blind? What makes you think that?”

 _Treat it as if it’s your last_.

His hurt and frustration prodded at him, recalling the hell this very man was capable of inflicting. Yet deeper down was something fonder, telling him to listen. It struggled to pull up memories of happier days, of when Natsume took him in when he had no one left.

He owed little to Natsume, could very well treat him like a dog, but what would that accomplish?

This was Natsume Ango, but it was also not. This man was no longer the ruler of a Fortress.

Carefully, he sat beside him, leaning the mirror against the rock wall. From here, he could see Sophia now laying atop the rock, humming as she gazed up at the canopies. He heard the chirping of birds and scuttling of small, woodland creatures leaping from branch to branch. Were they even animals?, he wondered, or were they yokai too?

Where _was_ he?

“I wanted to live in Teret,” Natsume began. “But you already knew that.”

“Quite,” Yusuke mumbled, unamused. “You never stopped talking about it.”

“Konoe Akira promised me that as long as I worked with him. I never thought nor wanted to be dragged into Riiben’s internal conflict. Or Teret’s, for that matter.”

He could not stop himself from frowning. “What is Teret to you?”

Natsume seemed shocked, as if not expecting such a question. “I…” he swallowed. “It was everything. For a while. I was able to see my dream come true even if it was in just one spot of Teret and not its entire nation. The people there cared for me. I would receive gifts. They listened to what I had to say.”

“You had all of that,” Yusuke snapped, frustration boiling in his stomach. Later, he would realize it was not frustration but something else. Something far more personal. “And you threw it away the minute you left Ikuta.”

“Our neighbors never appreciated us. Not for our talents or for our personalities—”

“I was not referring to _them_. I was referring to myself.”

Natsume fell silent.

“I cared for you,” he continued, pent-up emotions boiling until they had nowhere else to go. “I listened to you and I gave you gifts for each holiday we celebrated. _We_ had what you’ve been fruitlessly chasing this past decade! And yet, you still…!”

His voice hooked on a sudden lump in his throat, and he tore his gaze from him where it fell upon the mirror. He had half a mind to grab it and leave Natsume to rot beneath this tree. It was what Natsume would’ve done to him had the situations been reversed.

“I guess… I wanted more…” Natsume said lamely. “They gave me an inch, and I wanted a mile.”

“And I would’ve given you the world if it would have made you stay,” Yusuke whispered darkly. He would not shed anymore tears for this person. His eyes had dried while he lay in the freezing cell of the cognitive world.

“Why did I matter so much to you, Yusuke?” and the question was genuine. Yusuke could not find that same bite that sunk its teeth into his earlier response.

“Have you forgotten where I came from?” he found himself saying. “Wandering alone and starving with not a human in sight. How else was I supposed to react to someone who selflessly healed me?”

“This?” Natsume held out his hands, but there was no magic.

Sophia had stripped him of even _that_. “You may not see it, but we were family. You lied when the villagers questioned me. You taught me how to survive. You were… my friend.”

The word felt so foreign and hollow on his tongue. He had not called anyone his ‘friend’ – there was no one who was. Amamiya was always above him, taking Futaba and anyone else with him. No matter how amicable they were, there were lines that should never be crossed. But Natsume had never been above him… until he fell for Konoe’s lies.

Had he not done the same? Had he not taken up the sword, believing Konoe would protect him from angry villagers or people who knew the truth?

The only difference was Yusuke had been hit with luck in the form of Iwakura.

A jolt ran through him when Natsume grasped his shoulder. He shrugged loose, not wanting his hands anywhere on him. “Sorry,” he mumbled, a sliver of guilt pricking his heart at the hurt that lit Natsume’s face.

“No,” he said. “You have every right to react that way.”

The silence between them was not awkward this time, nor riddled with tension. It was calm, peaceful like the air around them. He wondered if Sophia had something to do with it.

“Konoe Akira wants to get rid of people like Amamiya. And you too,” Natsume explained. “He wants to create a perfect Riiben. To earn the approval of the emperor. From there, he will lead the charge onto Teret before they can raid us. You must stop him.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Yusuke asked, taken aback by his honesty.

Natsume’s glassy eyes did not meet his. “While he has Riiben’s best interests at heart, the damage he will cause to reach his goal will lead to a land of betrayal.”

Something was… off. He reached for Natsume’s arm hesitantly.

“For all I’ve done to you and Amamiya. Forgive me. And I owe an apology to Ohara too, but I suppose it’s too late for that. For all of it, really.”

A simple apology could not heal the wounds inflicted upon his body nor the shame that came with it. Or the small part Natsume played in Iwai’s death. But Yusuke knew this was the most of an apology he would get. Especially as he was.

“Don’t go looking for him, Yusuke, because I know you will. I gave up Ohara to Konoe’s little experiments before he had the chance to return home. He’s gone,” Natsume sighed. “There really is no redemption for me, is there?”

“The only one stopping that, is you,” Yusuke said. “If you want to start over, you will have to work at it.”

“Sakura… Right. He’s here too… somewhere. Konoe…” he shook his head. “Sorry, Yusuke. I just don’t feel like thinking right now.”

“Natsume?” he shook him. Once. Twice. “Natsume, answer me,” he swallowed past that lump again, his voice struggling free. “Ango—”

A small hand fell upon his own. Sophia looked at him sadly and shook her head.

What did that mean?

…but he knew.

The glassy eyes, the staring into the mirror, the lack of magic… Natsume was not himself when Yusuke had arrived.

“I’ll take care of him.” Sophia assured as they stepped into the water.

Natsume’s knees had been brought to his chest, and he stared down at them listlessly.

“Can you please tell me what happened?”

“A man with twisted desires such as his could not last long in this world. Wherever he went, he would attract the attention of lesser, malevolent beings. He was a danger to you and whoever else escaped that world…” she paused. “and me as well. I couldn’t have someone like that in a place that housed the regalia, but I could not leave him to wander the forest forever. So those desires… I took them away.”

“What now then?” Yusuke demanded, gesturing to where Natsume sat. “Is he to stay like that for eternity?”

Sophia shook her head. “If a soul is strong enough, it will be reborn. What you see now is a shell left behind by the real Natsume. That, too, will disappear. But he is, as you humans say, ‘gone from this world’.”

“Natsume Ango…” he murmured, eyes falling to the _Yata no Kagami_. Yusuke realized he never found out just _why_ Natsume desired the regalia so much. He gritted his teeth, helpless to the pressure of his own tears. “You foolish man…”

To her credit, Sophia let him grieve quietly, even as he scrubbed his eyes with the torn sleeve of the yukata. He supposed that was life: suffer betrayal from a dear friend and when death approached, the apology he sought no longer mattered. Nothing did.

“You have power too…” Sophia said softly as they took their seat upon the rock.

Yusuke laid the mirror on the ground, black surface up to reflect the sun. “It was of little help earlier.”

“That is your own fault.”

He couldn’t argue there. “Will it return?”

“Power never goes away once it’s awakened. The way you got yours was different than most, meaning it can still be opened more if you let it. However, as you are now, it will continue to act on its own.”

“‘As I am now’?” he didn’t understand. “What do you mean by that?”

“A Persona is a part of you. It comes from your heart. If you cannot open that to other people, if you cannot trust them, then it will not listen to you.”

His mind clicked back to Natsume. “Trust didn’t get me anywhere before.”

“It can now,” Sophia assured calmly. “The family you serve care for you. Amamiya Ren may not admit it, but he respects and trusts you. He is waiting for you to open up to him.”

“And I wait for him,” Yusuke countered miserably. “Every time we get closer, something gets in the way.”

“Be honest.”

He shot her a look. “You keep saying that.”

“I am saying what you need to know until you do it. I understand persistence is usually very successful among your kind.”

Yusuke sighed, but he could not bring himself to be angry with her. ‘Humanity’s friend’ had a very jumbled understanding of ‘humans’…

“You should tell him about your village. You were happier then.”

“Ikuta?” he supplied. “I suppose, but…”

Sophia shook her head. “You are running away from it. You have been this whole time.”

There were many times where Yusuke was cornered. Whether it be pressed into a dead end by brigands or by Konoe’s disapproving glare, he recognized what it felt and how it made him want to turn away and never look back. But Sophia knew something he didn’t want anyone else knowing.

And he hated being cornered.

“I can’t.”

“You can—”

“You don’t understand,” he said icily. “I _can’t_. They… no one can know. What good will it do to talk about my past?”

“Then you waste both Philemon and Lavenza’s gift.”

 _Let them go to waste_ , Yusuke thought, but before he could speak, a flash of light exploded at the bank where he had first arrived. Relief flooded his chest at the idea of avoiding this conversation, of putting it behind him, but it was swiftly dashed away at what he saw.

A young girl with long silver hair and a blue dress watched them quietly. Behind her was Amamiya, who had the arms of an unconscious Sakura Sojiro hanging over his shoulders.

“You found him—”

“He won’t wake up.” Amamiya cut in vapidly, and he laid him upon the grass.

“This man lacks desires,” Sophia explained. “But it’s different than Natsume… He can still be saved.”

Though Yusuke did not understand the makings of desires, he noticed the differences. Sakura slept peacefully, his face calm and devoid of anguish. He found himself believing Sophia. “She’s right.”

“His desires lie in the heart of Konoe’s Fortress,” Lavenza chipped in. “I fear most of Iwakura’s desires are trapped, meaning you will have to defeat him in order to restore Iwakura back to normal. Sakura Sojiro as well.”

Amamiya didn’t acknowledge their reassurances.

He had hoped Lavenza wouldn’t acknowledge him, but when did his prayers ever matter to a God? She smiled gently and bowed. “We meet again, Kitagawa Yusuke.”

“Yes,” he muttered. “I… I suppose we do.”

“You two know each other?” Amamiya glanced up at them.

“I helped him when he was younger,” Lavenza answered smoothly.

“She helped me awaken to Goemon.” He knew those were a poor choice of words, when Amamiya slammed his eyes back to Sakura. Biting his lip, he tried to take back what had been said, “What I mean is—”

“—It’s different for everyone,” Amamiya interrupted, voice short. “I know. That’s what you all tell me.”

He felt Sophia’s eyes on him, but thankfully, she had nothing to say.

Lavenza flipped open her grimoire. “It would be dangerous for him if he stayed too long,” she said as magic leafed through the pages. At last, they stilled, an image of a village bracketed with rice paddies materialized. “Everyone is waiting for you here, in Minochi. It would be best to leave Sakura Sojiro some place safe while you take care of Konoe’s Fortress.” She nodded her head at the mirror. “With the second regalia, you should have no problem getting in and out of the Fortress, but please be careful. He has one too.”

“Will we meet again?” Amamiya asked, impatience having fled his words.

A gentle smile graced her lips. “It is too soon for a farewell,” and she looked to Yusuke. “And you,” she started. “You should follow Sophia’s advice.”

No secret was safe with them, he thought irritably.

Sophia handed Amamiya the mirror. “You have the final key to the regalia. Only use it when you’re ready and the light will show you the way,” she grinned. “Do your best.”

“We will.” Yusuke said in Amamiya’s silence.

As Lavenza warped them away, he tried not to glance over at Natsume’s shell.

‘ _I can’t forgive him. But maybe in another life, things would have been different. I would’ve liked to see that._ ’

Zenkichi and the others had been waiting for them – Morgana as well. When he opened his eyes to the bamboo forest of Minochi, he was struck with a long-buried familiarity. Few places in Minochi had bamboo plant life, and Taira was no exception. He knew this forest from the many times his family would take him to see Zenkichi and Akane.

(And… further back, Zenkichi’s wife.)

Thoughts of his family settled into a miserable pile in his stomach, so he forced himself to think elsewhere. With Sojiro on his back, it was easy to change the subject.

“You—”

“Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Ren assured, allowing Zenkichi to handle him. “Once we take back Iwakura, his desires will return and he’ll wake up.”

Ann gave him a quizzical look. “Desires?”

“It’s a long story, and this isn’t the greatest place to talk.”

“Ren,” Zenkichi’s eyebrows knitted together. He no longer wore the outfit from the cognitive world, stuck back in his dark clothing. “Where’s Iwai?”

The name was a stone to his face, cutting his cheek and spilling that hastily bottled guilt. He gripped his hakama, glimpsed his missing fingers, and could only muster a single word.

“Dead.”

Everyone went silent – including Ryuji. It didn’t stop him from kicking at a scruff of dirt.

“How…?” Ann let the question hang, as if she couldn’t continue.

“Protecting me. Konoe shot him when I should’ve been paying attention.”

“Natsume distracted us,” Kitagawa supplied, and Ren was nearly overcome with the urge to tell him to stay quiet. He never asked for anyone to try and alleviate the guilt, to try and take away the knowledge that Iwai died because of him. “But it was too late.”

“I met someone in Ne no Kuni,” Ren said quickly, closing the subject. It was not their burden to bear. “They wanted us to have this.”

Zenkichi looked on in shock. “The _Yata no Kagami_? She just _gave_ it to you?”

“I hate to interrupt,” Morgana’s voice came from below, next to Ann. “But you said it wasn’t safe here. Isn’t there someplace private we can stay at? Like a house?”

“Right,” Zenkichi agreed, adjusting Sojiro with a lift of his shoulders. “My home is close by. I’m sure Futaba will be glad to see you.”

The name filled him with a breath of relief. Through all the chaos, he’d nearly forgotten how she’d take the news about Sojiro. If he could provide some sort of ease to anyone, he’d hand it over immediately. He would make sure to explain the workings of desires when they were _all_ in the room.

They made their way out of the forest, but not before Ren noticed the altar. A faceless statue in the honor of Philemon sat in a pool of water. Offerings had been left on the stone steps, some, such as flowers, buoying quietly.

A waste of good flowers was all that they were.

“Amamiya?”

Ren peeled his gaze to Kitagawa, feeling his hands uncurl from fists he’d not known he was making. His jaw ached, straining from being clenched. He was half-aware that Kitagawa had been wearing his clothes this entire ordeal. But they were traditional garb for an uncaring God; they could fall apart at the seams for all he cared.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Are you alright?” Kitagawa asked as they followed the others.

 _Peachy_ , he almost said, but nothing was Kitagawa’s fault. Especially not Iwai’s death. “I will be.”

Taira was one of the few villages spared Minochi’s Massacre. People chose to flee to their neighboring regions while others dug in their stubborn roots, proclaiming they could survive without the help of nobility. Stepping into the village proved, at least to Amamiya, their judgement had been properly placed.

There were rows of modest houses, constructed of wood with thatch roofs. On the other side of the village were rice paddies, sunlight bouncing off their surface. Following the adjacent road led directly into town where he could see the general market up and ready for business.

“A lot more people than I expected…” he observed.

“I’m sure you’ll want to see how much it’s changed.” Zenkichi said, leading them along a path farthest from the village.

The last time he walked through Taira was on a cloudy day, the sky threatening an onslaught of rain that never came. He was five, barely reaching his mother’s waist, and clinging to her hand like a lifeline. When the adults talked wares, he’d look around from the safety of his parents. His father had ruffled his hair, teasing him about his timidness, but never antagonistic. At the time, Zenkichi had been waiting for them with his wife.

Ren shook his head, as if it’d clear the sudden rush of memories. If Minochi never fell to the yakuza, maybe he would have been able to frequent Taira much more.

Or maybe if he woke to his Persona…

Zenkichi’s house had not changed much over the years. A three-tiered, triangular house with faded wood and white blinds. He’d always complain how there was too much space for just him and Akane, a problem that didn’t exist when there was once a family of three. It wasn’t as if he could invite neighbors either, given the work he’d been saddled with. What person would want to sleep under the same roof with a spy?

They stopped at the wooden door. He almost voiced to Zenkichi that it’d need replacing soon before realizing the timing would be inappropriate.

Zenkichi broke the silence. “…Could one of you get that?”

“…Ryuji?” Ann offered.

“Seriously?” He exhaled, but went to slide the door open… only for it to remain shut. A handful of seconds trickled by before the sound of footsteps came from the other side.

“Who is it?” a young girl’s voice came.

“It’s us, Akane.” Zenkichi answered.

There was a pause, something moved, and the door slid open. Akane was a young girl in her early teens. Her hair was dark and short, reaching halfway down her neck. She had her father’s eyes, but lacked the wariness that was ever present in in his. Still, she did regard Ryuji and the others with suspicion. Maybe she _was_ learning.

“Are they…?”

“Friends. I’ll explain later, but right now…”

Her eyes flitted to Sojiro and she nodded in understanding, turning to retreat into the house.

“After you.”

The inside of Zenkichi’s house was large with a foyer and a living space. Tatami mats were stretched along the floors, and they left their shoes on the black wood of the foyer. A chabudai was by the windows, which had been shut for whatever reason. There was the shelf lined with knick-knacks from a decade ago, but not a layer of dust touched their shoulders. Despite belonging to his late wife, Zenkichi seemed to take special care of them.

Further back was the wooden staircase. Ren only glimpsed her rushing down the stairs before Futaba stood before them. Her name scarcely touched his lips when she crushed him into a hug, burying her head in his chest.

“You’re alive! I… I thought—”

He hugged her back, trying to ignore his missing fingers and how he would have to explain that to both her and Sojiro. “I’m here.”

Akane dragged the futon from the closet, laying it out by the window. “Lay him down here.”

Futaba pulled away, glasses smudged. When her eyes fell upon Sojiro, she gasped.

“He’s fine,” Zenkichi assured as Futaba rushed over, kneeling beside him. “We…” and he looked to Ren. “…have a lot to explain.”

Though she looked to Ren for confirmation, it was Morgana who spoke.

“So, where do we start?”

.

..

She lost connection with them when they stepped into Konoe’s Fortress. Futaba could use Necronomicon as long as she was near the shrine, but even she couldn’t break into whatever part of Ne no Kuni the portal had sent them. Whether they had a Persona or not, it hadn’t mattered.

Morgana, Ryuji, and Ann had been separated when they fell in, but whatever realm Lavenza and Sophia had brought him and Kitagawa, it was not the same for them.

“We just woke up in Taira,” Morgana said. “Wounds and everything – gone.”

“Konoe Akira…” Futaba was looking at him. No. She was looking at his hands. “…did that to you?”

Ren deflected her attention onto Kitagawa. “He had it worse.” He could feel Kitagawa’s gaze boring into the back of his head.

“It’s not a competition,” Morgana remarked firmly. “Right now, we need to find a way to bring down Konoe’s Fortress. With the sacred treasure, he’s a lot stronger than we thought, but we have one of our own.”

“But it can’t do much,” Ryuji argued. “That’s what you were sayin’, yeah?”

“When we need to use it, it’ll be there,” Ren found himself answering. “That’s what they told us.”

“Hey, Ren.” Ann kept her eyes trained on the ground and she didn’t wait for his answer. “Did… Iwai say anything?”

‘ _He told me everything_ ’ and left behind nothing but complex feelings. Iwai had been involved with his parents’ deaths. Then it was Iwai who also buffered the torment Konoe and Natsume inflicted on them. And it was Iwai who took the arrow meant for his own heart. But in confessing, he threw out a secret Ren only wanted between him and Zenkichi.

Logic told him Iwai did what he had to protect his son… wherever that boy may be. Did he know that his father was working for such a horrible man? Or was he already long buried?

It would’ve been easier if Iwai’s death had not been through a sacrifice.

Maybe he did it as a thank you for shielding him from Konoe… but that made it sound empty. A man such as Iwai did not agree to heinous crimes if there was nothing to protect.

“He was part of Minochi’s Massacre… but not directly.”

When he gazed up into the yellow eyes of his parents’ murderer, they had not been Iwai’s. He would’ve remembered Iwai, burned his image into his brain until he could enact some empty form of justice. That man who was tasked with killing a child was the one who struck first.

“There’s a lot I’ve been keeping from you,” he admitted, unable to keep eye contact. “I’m not a direct heir to Iwakura, but most of you knew that. Instead, I was born in Minochi, to the hidden family of thieves that did Iwakura’s dirty business.”

“So that’s where you came from…” Morgana mused, but there was no cheer in his voice upon such a discovery.

“History wanted to forget about them,” Zenkichi added. “The royal families that knew of Iwakura’s secret allies thought it was underhanded. So there were always bounties on their heads. When they were taken care of, no one spoke of them again. It was as if they were—”

“—erased from existence.” Ren finished, and they may as well have been. The thieves grew and worked in the shadows and they died there too. He wondered if it would’ve been better if that fate befell him too.

Akane observed her father. “Is that why you were always gone?”

“I’m not a thief,” Zenkichi reassured. “But I knew Amamiya’s parents.”

“Konoe doesn’t like thieves. Even when we met, he always had such animosity. Now I know why,” he said, more to himself than to the others. “In living with Sojiro, I dragged you all into this old conflict,” and he dipped his head in deepest apology, fighting back the gnawing in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, man, I was damned before I started,” Ryuji laughed, but it lacked his usual energy. “Konoe probably hates my guts too. Not exactly nobility either.”

“But he’ll…” Futaba gripped Sojiro’s hand in hers. “He’ll wake up once his desires are restored, right?”

Though she had not directed the question at him, it was obvious who she was asking. ‘ _Of course_ ,’ is what he should’ve said, but he found he could only stare in answer. The family that welcomed him was now suffering with only a hypothetical ‘maybe he’ll wake up’ hanging over their heads. And if he didn’t? Ren imagined he’d never be able to face Futaba again.

“He will be,” Morgana piped up much to Ren’s relief. “We should rest up as quick as we can and take care of Konoe before he starts going after other prefectures.”

“And where are you going?” Ryuji called after him, Morgana halfway to the door.

“There're some things I need to take care of as well. If you still have the energy, I could use the help,” and he paused, staring up at the door. “Uh… could someone get that?”

They took Morgana’s advice, dispersing once their impromptu meeting had drawn to a close. He noticed Ann talking with Kitagawa and stopped to listen in. She wanted to trim his hair, but Ren knew this was her way of trying to talk to Kitagawa. They’d hardly spoken beyond formalities back in Akiyama. Ryuji went after Morgana, the duo bickering the full nine yards. Zenkichi had Akane take him to one of the guest rooms.

As she paused outside the door, he wondered if it used to belong to her mother.

“Your cat meows an awful lot,” she said.

Ren nodded. The room was barren aside from a single chabudai and a futon. “Are the others staying in here?”

Akane shrugged. “Futaba’s been staying in my room, so Takamaki-san is more than welcome too. I don’t know what dad has for Sakamoto and Kitagawa,” her eyes lowered. “But with Sojiro here, Futaba may want to stay with him. I just hope she doesn’t worry too much.”

“She’s strong,” he found himself saying. “She’ll do what she can to restore him back to health. Until then, would you keep an eye out on her for me?”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “I can do that.”

He was helpless to a smile of his own. “Thank you.”

The knocking on the door frame alerted him. He was hoping for Zenkichi, but instead, it was Kitagawa. Folded clothes were in his arms. “Am I interrupting?”

Akane answered for him. “I was just leaving, actually. There’s still some things I need to do,” looking to Ren, she nodded. “I’ll be around.”

“She’s very attentive,” Kitagawa remarked when she was out of ear shot. He held out the clothes to Ren. “Zenkichi wanted me to give you these.”

It was no surprise to him that the clothes were black. Ren wondered if Zenkichi’s entire wardrobe had a strict ‘dark clothing’ rule. When Kitagawa didn’t leave, he spoke. “Weren’t you meeting with Ann?”

“I am. After I’ve changed…”

He was stalling. “Just spit it out, Kitagawa.”

His face crinkled in unease. “There are some things I would like to discuss with you later. If your schedule is free, it would be best to do so immediately.”

“You can’t tell me now?” Ren frowned, but Kitagawa’s words put him on edge. They were always good about keeping their distance from each other, backpedaling if a secret came too close to being spilled.

“I’ll need more time. After the events over the past day, I feel we could both use some respite.”

He couldn’t argue there.

Kitagawa took his leave. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Of course, he thought as he got changed, trying to ignore Iwai’s blood on the yukata. After the hell they endured together in Konoe and Natsume’s fortress, it was only fair things returned to normal in the real world. Whatever happened away from the unseeing eyes of their friends should stay behind in the cognitive realm. Earlier, he was so quick to throw Kitagawa under the cart when Futaba questioned his injuries. If he were Kitagawa, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere near someone named Amamiya Ren unless it was mandatory.

But it wasn’t easy to forget. It wasn’t easy to replace the memory of Kitagawa holding him in his arms, albeit for only a brief moment. For once since being captured, he had felt _safe_.

He almost hated Kitagawa for it. There was no time for soft, boyish feelings when they had to stop Konoe. And then there was Kitagawa’s own secrecy from the Persona to… _everything_. Who was Kitagawa Yusuke?

Futaba had not budged from Sojiro’s side, as expected, but he was glad to see Akane with her. Outside, he could hear Ann talking with Kitagawa occasionally making an affirmative noise. When he spoke, it was low and Ren could not make out the words.

From the stairs, he’d almost asked Akane of Zenkichi’s whereabouts…

“…I lost my mom too.” Futaba was saying.

He closed his mouth and listened closely.

“She always told me to stay away from Ne no Kuni, but she was always fascinated with how it worked.”

There was a breath of silence. Then, “Was she attacked by them? By Shadows?”

“No. The air in Ne no Kuni is different. We thought it may have been the overexposure…” a pause. “Then there was me. I had no problem going in and out thanks to Necronomicon.”

“So when Sojiro was thrown in…”

“…I have to… believe it’s different this time,” he could hear the wobble in her voice. “Ren found him, and I trust him… Until then, I’ll do all I can.”

On the staircase, he felt smaller than any mouse. He was under the lens of curious observers, taking notes at the tiniest misstep. One checkmark closer to the ‘dysfunctional’ pile. All that kept him together was some blind and leftover hope in the God he prayed to nonstop. It was drilled into him to never give up Philemon, but the events in the Fortress was the farthest he’d ever strayed from Riiben’s God.

They were waiting for a miracle to help them pull through this, and he was no different. He wanted that power more than they knew.

When he descended the stairs, he’d barely made eye contact with them. “I’m going to look for your father, Akane,” was all he could say.

If they called after him, he did not hear. His feet carried him farther and farther away from the village, and the dirt path turned into the forest’s carpet.

There were no new offerings before Philemon’s statue. The water was frigid as it touched his feet, swallowing his legs and reaching his waist as he took the steps closer. He was out of breath, he realized, and he did not lift his hands in prayer nor recite the lines he’d spoken again and again to Philemon.

His mother and father, the dozens upon dozens of innocent people slaughtered in the massacre, Iwai’s confession and sacrifice, Sojiro’s soul locked outside its body, Futaba’s grief… everyone’s hope that this would turn out okay, pretending that they weren’t disappointed he couldn’t awaken that dormant power… Kitagawa’s secrecy…

“What is it…?” Ren whispered, voice thick. He grasped the statue, fingers scraping along its wet surface.

But statues could not speak.

“I’ve spent years praying to you, and you continue to take everything from me. From my family.” He couldn’t lose Sojiro because of Konoe Akira’s cruelty. He couldn’t lose Iwakura. “But why can't I do it? What is it you want?”

Why did Konoe Akira have the regalia when they had nothing? 

_Why did Iwai have to die? Why did my parents have to die?_

The dagger chipped the statue, a small, pinpoint hole from where he drove it into what would have been Philemon’s eye. Would the God have cried out in pain? Or would he continue to ignore him as always?

“Damn you…” he sobbed, his weapon falling into the spring as he rubbed viciously at his eyes. Pain shot through his legs as he fell to his knees and splashed the water, still clinging to the statue. Unbidden tears slipped down his cheeks.

“ _What’s wrong with me_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tl;dr: Ren's a tsundere hypocrite and everyone cries.
> 
> [Chapter 10 notes and trivia here!](https://ne-no-kuni.dreamwidth.org/2752.html)

**Author's Note:**

>  _Method in Madness_ has a blog with all the worldbuilding information as well as chapter trigger warnings and notes about the story. You can find it [here](https://ne-no-kuni.dreamwidth.org/)!


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